


Going Down

by Narroch



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fisting, Humiliation, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Object Insertion, Restraints, Sounding, Spanking, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narroch/pseuds/Narroch
Summary: All those years of sexual molestation around the world were finally paying off. This is PWP kink-fic to the max.
Relationships: America/France (Hetalia), China/France (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia), France (Hetalia)/Everyone, France/Germany (Hetalia), France/Hungary (Hetalia), France/Japan (Hetalia), Poland/Lithuania/France, Russia/Latvia/Estonia/France, Sealand/France, Ukraine/Belarus/France
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this forever ago (2011!) when I got snowed-in in Denver and my gf at the time kept throwing prompts at me and I just wrote them out. What started as a goofy inside joke turned into... this. Don't take it too seriously, this story only uses porn logic. 
> 
> You can thank quarantine for this getting dusted off and reposted. I'll actually finish it this time around too. Ff.net was like woooooooooah, too filthy for me! So I had to take it down years ago but Ao3 is super chill and I've got some time on my hands again. So, yay? XD
> 
> Please enjoy this weird old fic of mine.

"This is the birthday present you have always wanted but were too shy to ask for, isn't it?"

"France, shy? _ Kesesese _ , yea right. He probably just hadn't thought of this yet."

They giggled as they applied the finishing touches; Prussia poured France's birthday champagne over his head in a pale, bubbly stream while Spain turned to slide his sticky fingers across every single button on the control panel. They both stumbled, laughing hysterically at their practical joke, too drunk and macho to care about ramifications. They were best friends, taking things too far was ordinary between the three of them. And, honestly, duct taping France to a folding chair and placing a sign around his neck with 'It's my birthday, have fun!' scrawled across it was something too hilariously debauched to pass up.

France struggled in his bonds, glaring at his two smashed friends who were leaning against one another in the doorway, oblivious to the elevator trying (and failing) to close on them. He would have yelled at them if it were possible but the duct tape was applied too liberally for that, across his mouth, around his neck, thighs, and strangely enough, even a pair of Xs had been stuck over his nipples beneath his rumpled shirt. His legs were bent up and taped that way, circling around his thigh and calf so that his feet couldn't touch the ground and it would take very little effort to get between them; France could only weakly clamp his legs shut over his crotch.

He shook his head, champagne dripping and burning in his eyes, and tried to hop his way over to the door, muffled shouts emanating from beneath the tape the entire time. Prussia crowed with laughter at the attempt and merely set his foot on the seat between France's legs and kicked the chair backwards. It skittered across the slick floor, sending jolts of fearful vertigo through France as it almost tipped over. Luckily he hit the back wall before he could fall and the impact snapped his head with a loud thud. He cringed at the reverberating pain on his skull, knowing full well there would be a knot rising there soon and it was through clenched eyes that he saw the elevator doors finally begin to slide closed.

"Have fun, France!" Spain called, and it was the last thing he heard before horribly cheerful elevator musac assaulted his ears. France watched with bated breath as the floors began to float by, opening to an empty corridor before closing again. Hopefully he could just get to the bottom floor without anyone needing a ride and then the lobby security could help him out of his decidedly messy situation.

However he had only gone down four lonely floors before he heard a purposeful clicking approach his open door. Someone was trying to catch his elevator before it closed, France could do nothing but watch as a hand firmly caught the closing door and it immediately jumped open for the new rider.

Germany, of all countries, stepped into view, clutching a briefcase and looking immaculate in his navy blue business suit. He jerked in surprise when he saw France sitting there, dripping and blushing and mute. His mouth fell open, silent, and there was a strained pause as he tried to register the strange scene. It took so long that the door started to close again, shock apparently winning over his motor-skills as he made no move to stop the barrier.

France managed to let out half a sigh of relief before it was cut off by Germany's hand managing to slip into the two inch gap before the door was completely sealed. Once again it opened up obediently however instead of a stunned and bewildered Germany, France was met with a grinning and vindictive one instead.

"My, my, France, I never expected to see you in this condition. It took me by surprise I will admit," Germany growled; stepping onto the elevator and letting the doors close with a terrifying sound of finality.

"I didn't get you a present for your birthday so this is a perfect opportunity for me to make some  _ reparations _ ." The word slid out on an ugly sneer, pointing to a much more sinister reason than a mere practical joke could account for.

Germany turned and pressed the stop button and the elevator shuddered to a halt between floors. Then he knelt with his briefcase, carefully opening it and putting on his gloves; the leather was taut yet supple across his knuckles, giving them a menacing gleam. He also paused to remove an old cuckoo clock, one that France recognized with sinking dread, and calmly wound the dial on the back. They both watched as the miniature hands spun around until a condensed hour had passed after only a few seconds. As expected the hand-carved door clicked open and instead of a cuckoo bird popping out to chirp the hour, a facsimile of France's head emerged instead, giving a snooty laugh through his wooden upturned nose. It only made its second debut before Germany nabbed it and snapped it cleanly off at the base; the clock continued to make weak noises as the empty door fluttered open and closed but Germany lost interest in it and let it tumble to the floor where it splintered and skittered to the corner.

Germany turned the broken France-cuckoo extension over in his hand several times, contemplating its leering design.

"I bet you thought it was funny, forcing me to make these day and night, just so your hourly laughter would constantly remind me of my loss." Germany let the end of the wooden stick trail across France's jawline before slipping underneath and jerking his head up. "I don't hear you laughing now, France," Germany sneered, clearly enjoying the reversal.

Without any other warning he grabbed the back of the chair and yanked it forward, France could do nothing but wince his eyes shut as the hard wet linoleum tiles flew up to meet him, his nose and brow taking the painful brunt of the fall. The impact left France reeling, dizzy, he groaned as he felt shards of pain embedded in his skull shift and grind against each other, sparking spectacular spots which swirled across his eyes. France felt gravity shift again as the chair was rolled over so his back was on the floor, legs sprawled up above him in the air. Without the constant weight of the chair squashing him into the floor, the shards in his skull shifted to a dull throbbing instead, though the spots continued to twirl and dance across his vision.

Germany stepped over him, straddling his torso and began to work with France's pants. After a moment of fruitless struggle, the crazy duct tape pattern hindering every attempt at disrobing, Germany instead pulled out a pocket knife and cut into the seam above France's crotch, ripping the pants open. The silk boxers quickly followed suit and Germany was left staring at the tempting curves of France's ass. With one hand he spread them, eyeing the tight hole as he gave the wooden face of the cuckoo extension a perfunctory swipe with his tongue.

"Now it's time for a taste of your own medicine, France." Germany spat, pressing the wide face of the cuckoo arm harshly against his unprepared entrance. He twisted it, pressing harder when it didn't immediately sink in. France jerked at the assault, contorting as far as he could in his bonds but unable to escape the tearing pain of the blunt object forcing its way inside him. Germany seemed to be getting frustrated at his lack of progress and placed his foot on France's heaving chest, both to hold him still and to get better leverage. The tip of it continued to press and stretch but couldn't quite enter; the opening was still far too tight. Germany began to tease the end of it, pushing with small thrusts, putting more pressure behind it with each motion. Eventually, after leaning down hard enough that France had trouble breathing, the end of it suddenly popped inside. France's eyes widened, pupils retracting into pinpricks of pain as the rending sensation overwhelmed him. The cuckoo arm was wider than a normal cock and much more unforgiving than flesh as well; the cylindrical wood stretched France far beyond his normal capacity and Germany grinned at the beads of blood welling up around the rim.

Content to just let it sit there for a moment, protruding like a crude claim of territory on his ass, Germany took the time to undo his belt and fly, kneeling so that his erection hovered France's taped mouth and his balls dangled over his nose.

"Now, don't you dare bite me or this entire thing goes straight in your ass. This is barely even the tip you are feeling right now," Germany growled as he reached down and brusquely ripped the duct tape off France's mouth, pinching the corners of his jaw so he would open up. France barely had the wherewithal to resist; his entire core was still focused on the fiery tear between his legs. Germany slid his length inside as soon as there was room, enjoying the soft feeling of gagging around him. Using one hand on France's knee to balance himself and placing the other one on the cuckoo arm sticking ramrod out of his ass as a warning, Germany quickly picked up an efficient tempo. He thrust into France's open mouth, wet and warm, tight and yielding all at once, lips encircling his girth and throat spasming delightfully around his head every time it hit the back.

It felt  _ too _ good and Germany found himself fiddling with the cuckoo arm in order to distract himself. He pressed on it to match his own thrusts, noticing how it barely budged any deeper no matter how hard he tried; it was simply too dry and too large to get any movement. Meanwhile, France had managed to catch hold of his rhythm, breathing through his nose on the upbeat when his throat wasn't lodged with cock. He swirled his tongue, relaxed and opened his throat and tightened the ring of his lips, as through trying to encourage Germany to finish.

The tactic worked and Germany cursed in his own language as he thrust deep enough that his balls were pressed against France's nose and jerked his hips in release, a copious deluge shooting down his throat in several long spurts that France struggled to swallow. Germany pulled out so that the last pulse of cum splattered on France's face instead. Germany didn't move for a moment after he finished, allowing himself to catch his breath at his victim's expense. He finally got up just as France started to cough and watched as the blond spluttered, hair wet and in disarray, spread like the broken wings of a distressed bird across the floor, ass bleeding and distended, cum still oozing around his lips.

Germany felt rather pleased with himself. He used the lapel of France's shirt to clean himself up and stood looking pristine. Without even stooping down he anchored his foot on the bottom rung of the chair and leaned down to lever the entire thing back up, France lolling and dizzy as he swung vertical. Before he got his breath back to speak, Germany placed the used strip of duct tape over France's mouth yet again and rearranged the sign around his neck that had been thrown askew.

Without another word he turned on his heel and hit the stop button in order to set the elevator moving again. He stepped off on the next floor without even a backward glance, only a tiny smirk as testament to what he had done.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm adding tags as I go! Please check each chapter before reading.

France slumped and cringed as the movement shifted the cuckoo arm inside of him. Germany hadn't removed it before he left and the way it wedged itself against the seat of the chair made it unbearably uncomfortable to sit on. He squirmed trying to find a better position, maybe even a way to expel it if he was lucky but it just ground inside him, huge and painful and impossible to remove with his hands tied behind his back.

France jerked into stillness as the elevator came to a halt on the next floor and the doors slid open. Hungary stood outside the door waiting, her wide, moss-green skirt contrasting daintily against her crisp white apron. Her long, chestnut hair flowed freely down her back and when she stepped onto the elevator everything rustled softly, hair, skirt, apron, all swaying hypnotically over her tough feminine strut. France knew from the sudden (and completely useless) thin spike of arousal that he would have flirted with her mercilessly had he not been tied up. As it was, he hunched unnoticed; tucked silently in the corner as she kept her gaze focused on the minute job of worrying a twinge of a hangnail. She only looked up to press the button to her desired floor and paused in confusion as she saw all the buttons were already gleefully lit. It was only then that she took stock of her environment and saw France's disheveled and assaulted form. She gasped, hand flying up to cover her mouth as her eyes widened in shock.

Obviously she wasn't expecting a bound and sodomized passenger as company.

She did nothing as the doors closed; remained unmoved as they slid down to the next floor and the doors yawned opened yet again. The threat of someone else coming aboard snapped her out of her stare down and she quickly pressed the button to shut the door again. Her hand hovered above the stop button, seemingly torn, before she pressed it decisively.

France sighed at the familiar shuddering sensation and waited as Hungary turned and looked him over again, this time with ravenous eyes rather than shocked ones.

"You know France, I'm not that surprised by this. It caught me off guard at first but of course it makes sense that someone would finally want revenge for all the years of molestation under your hand. I understand that. Now, what I'm curious about is who would allow such a half-hearted attempt? Whoever it was obviously didn't finish the job," Hungary murmured quietly, eyeing the broken and protruding end of the cuckoo clock.

"Such mediocre endeavors should be corrected at once." She gave a small, sweet smile before pulling her frying pan out from behind her back where it had been tucked in her apron strings. France's eyes widened at the insinuation and he tried to make himself as small as possible in his chair. It made no difference as she strode forward and pushed his chair back, leaning it against the wall so his weight was balanced precariously on only its two hind legs.

"Let's plug you up proper," Hungary chirped cheerfully.

It was the only warning France got as she widened her stance, swung back and slammed the frying pan against the wooden arm. A dull  _ gong  _ galloped about in the small space of the elevator but the only thing France was conscious of was the agony reverberating through his body in sickly waves of excruciation. The speed of it caught his nerves off guard and they pulsed with an increasingly tortured tempo to try and catch up to the damage done by that one hit. Something had torn, France could feel it as a fiery rending that flared in sync with his frantic heartbeat.

Hungary seemed surprised that a majority of the arm was still protruding; it had only forced the bulbous tip further into France. She thought one solid hit would just shuttle the entire length in. Still, she wasn't going to be outdone, not by a pervert…

France had only just gotten his eyes to uncross themselves in time to see Hungary winding up again. She began to pound pitilessly away at the plug, each hit driving it in a little further, propelled on nothing but pure berserker determination. The pain was immense as the wooden stake was hammered into him, stretching and tearing its way through the resistance one inch at a time. France couldn't hold back his screams, muffled as they were by the tape, as each blow sent bloody sparks bursting before his eyes.

The agony was almost sublime as he began to lose consciousness, unable to tell one wallop apart from another. Just as blessed blackness began to steal over his vision in fuzzy black clots he felt the assault cease. France groaned as his consciousness was again pushed to the front to deal with damage control and he could suddenly, vividly feel every splintering detail of the wooden arm lodged deep inside him. It felt like a second spinal cord had taken root and was trying to grow upwards, splitting him in two with a forced and futile form of mitosis. France swore he could feel it bruising and shifting internal organs with how deeply it was embedded in him.

Hungary lowered her frying pan, swiping at her brow with the back of her hand. She had worked up a slight sheen (she didn't sweat, she  _ glistened _ ) from pounding the plug in. And seeing France so helpless, tied up and taking it up the ass, obviously already having been worked over by another man with a drying strip of come across his face, Hungary couldn't help but feel aroused by the sight. Already her mouth was dry and there was an urgent warmth tingling between her legs. France was still pushed against the wall, chair leaning back so that his head was at just the right height. Hungary pushed her long hair back and smiled. It was perfect.

Lifting her skirt she pulled down her panties and tucked them in her pocket, not wanting to ruin them by dropping them on the wet, dirty floor. France watched, wide-eyed, as she kicked one leg up on the wall next to his shoulder and then leaned forward so that her warm cunt hovered before his face.

"Now France, I am going to take the gag off and you are going to suck me off. And you'd better do it right or else my frying pan will make you sorry," she smiled, brandishing the kitchen appliance in his face. He gave a small jerky nod and winced as she yanked the tape off.

"Hungary, I-" France was cut off as she spanked him harshly with the frying pan, the large flat surface connecting soundly against his bottom. The force of it not only reddened the surface of his ass, it also jarred the stake lodged deep inside him. France yelped and cowered, shivering in pain.

"Don't speak, just suck." She grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked him forward, pressing her vulva to his mouth. She was wet and warm, swollen and humming with need. When France didn't immediately respond to her insistent tugging she leaned back and spanked him again. He groaned loudly at the sensation, which in turn made Hungary sigh happily from the vibrations of his pain. She grinned and readjusted her handhold in France's hair before leaning back and spanking him again and again with her right arm. His head clutched tightly between her legs, yanking his hair-turned-reins, and flipping her arm behind her to urge him on; their position was strangely equine and France did not care for her particular riding style.

Each time he would gasp it sent little tremors of pleasure through Hungary as she ground her clit over his lips. It was more like a beating than a spanking and France's ass was a blistering red before he finally was able to halt Hungary's attack by using his deft tongue.

Panting around the pain, France worked his tongue over her clit alternating between flicking and sucking. He was desperate for her to stop hitting him and worked hard to please her. Even so, she was still completely in control, fisting his hair and directing him where she wanted. If he ever slowed down or hesitated she yanked in warning, frying pan swiveling in her other hand, and he worked feverishly to make up for it. His need for cessation of pain aligned perfectly with Hungary's need for continuation of pleasure.

Eventually she just began thrusting against his mouth, his tongue held rigid for her to ride against as she gripped his head with both hands and flat-out skull fucked him. She picked up her pace, clearly enjoying herself with how wet she was, and France had trouble breathing being smothered by rutting, writhing pussy. He jerked and spasmed, trying to get a breath of air, but Hungary held him tight, growling at his disobedience. Luckily for him she was too distracted by her oncoming orgasm to punish him for it. She thrust frantically as it broke over her, gasping loudly, arching back and pulling France tight against her throbbing cunt as she rode it out. She jerked in waves as the pleasure wracked her and France felt certain he would suffocate. When she finally slumped in satisfaction, and France coughed and spluttered in desperation, she let her leg drop down so that she was straddling France's lap.

France just let his head loll back, breathing deep and fast. Hungary smirked at him, enjoying the glistening arousal she had left on his mouth and chin. As she sat she felt something nudge against her backside. She turned and felt France's erection, laughing in amazement.

"You truly are depraved, France," she murmured, shaking her head. "Was it my pussy or the log up your ass that got you this way?"

"Your pussy, I assure you." France responded, still gasping. "Actually, could you please take it out? It is quite painful."

"As much as I love hearing you beg, I'm afraid it has to stay. This pan is only good for pounding things in, not prying them out. Hopefully you'll have some luck on the lower floors. But for now let's fix this little 'problem' of yours." Hungary reached down and plucked up the duct tape yet again, pressing it to his lips yet again to shut him up. It was just too weird talking to the guy whose mouth she had just fucked.

She stood, set the frying pan down, and pulled a pair of scissors from a pocket on her apron. Seamstress that she was she always carried a small pair with her. She made quick work of the tattered remains of France's pants, cutting away any dignity Germany had left him. His erection stood straight up, a shameful response to the pain and abuse he had just gone through. For once France was embarrassed by his near nakedness and he drew his folded legs together to try and cover himself. Hungary giggled and pried them apart again.

"Don't worry; I can still make use of it even if you are a little on the small side," Hungary smirked.

France was pretty sure she was joking but the high, innocent way she said it made him think twice. A woman insulting his cock was always an ego-killer of epic proportions and he felt himself wilting under her critical gaze.

"Ah, looks like I scared it, poor little thing. Come on France get it up again or I'm going to have to force it."

France had no idea what she meant by that but the threat only made it worse; he was half-mast and sinking, quivering and ashamed by something he couldn't control. Hungary  _ tsked _ at him and grabbed the end of the cuckoo arm; just the jagged base of it stuck out and she used that to carefully twist and pry the huge cylinder. Despite what she said earlier it wasn't that hard to work it out and France was grateful for the slow, gentle way she went about it. It was about half way out when she suddenly pressed it back in again harsh and fast. France twitched as it jolted through him again and tried to close his legs. Hungary sat between them though, grinning, and she slowly pulled it out again twisting as it went. Once again it was only half way before she thrust it in again, this time using her pelvic bone to anchor the thing. With one hand pulling it out and her hips thrusting it back in again, Hungary slowly began to fuck France.

_ Pegging,  _ France's brain uselessly provided the more descriptive word for it.

Though it  _ was _ eons away from the frying-pan-bludgeoning earlier; the slow motion didn't hurt so much and the way she twisted it forced it to rub and drag right across his prostate. The pain was still present of course, ever lurking on the abrasive edges, but time had stretched his muscles and his own blood had provided lubrication. Though he couldn't help but cringe on it, he also had to admit it felt nice to be slowly fucked by such a huge object. It took up more room within him than anything else ever had, completely and wholly possessed by a length of wood. And the fact that it was a woman fucking him made the entire thing into a perverse dream France had once had. He felt his cock reawakening despite himself.

Hungary continued to slowly peg him until she saw he was finally erect again; she carelessly shoved the cuckoo arm back into him as deep as it was before and clambered on top of him. Without waiting for him to lose it again she sank down onto the cock in a single fluid motion, gasping in appreciation as it filled her. France moaned as well, feeling lost in the wet warmth unexpectedly encasing his cock, overwhelmed by the purely sweet sensation after so much pain.

Hungary began to ride him, one hand braced against the wall, using short, rapid thrusts so the head of his cock dragged right along her g-spot while her other hand thumbed and rubbed her own ridge of pleasure. France tried to buck up into her as well as he could but it quickly became evident that she was the one in complete control, using his cock for her own satisfaction rather than any sort of wish to get him off.

She panted as the shallow and tightly-controlled thrusts slowly turned into deep and unrestrained lunges; every motion hitting deep within her. Her hand was jerking furiously across her clit and it was testament to how worked up she was that only after a few taut seconds she was once again twisting and arching back with a strangled cry. France could feel her clenching around him as she came, fluttering like muscular wings, though on the outside the only thing that moved were her fingers still galloping across her clit as she rode it out. Finally she twitched and slumped in completion.

France watched her, entranced by the way her hair draped around them as a curtain, the way her soft wetness made his injuries almost fade into insignificance. He tried to buck fruitlessly into her, his own cock was still rock hard inside her and desperate for stimulation; he had been close when she stopped moving. Hungary blinked and looked at him with a single quirked eyebrow.

"You'd best stop doing that," she warned.

France looked at her, his eyes beseeching and practically sparkling. Hungary just rolled her own jade eyes and got off him with a soft, slick noise. Once again she kicked her leg up against the wall balanced in the same position as before. France sucked in a breath, thinking she wanted him to eat her out again but she maintained a distance from him and his mouth was still taped regardless. He stared confused up at her but her face was blocked by her dress.

After a few seconds it became clear what she was doing as a steady stream of piss suddenly hit his face. Warm, rank, running everywhere; France shook his head, trying to avoid the tepid torrent but it just ended up landing on his neck and slid down over his chest instead. He shuddered in revulsion and tried to hold his breath to avoid the worst of the fumes and splatter. Hungary sighed in relief as she relieved herself, quite proud to have marked some territory in such a crude way. She squeezed out the last few drops and stepped down letting her dress fall and cover her.

France looked utterly defeated, covered in piss, still painfully hard, and with a huge wooden cylinder stuffed in his ass. Hungary giggled, covering her mouth politely. France couldn't even bear to meet her gaze. She stooped down and grabbed her skillet tucking it back in the waist of her apron and straightened her hair before pressing the elevator button. She was positively glowing as she stepped off; yelling back cheerfully at France "Boldog születésnapot!" which he could only assume was 'Happy Birthday' in Hungarian.

The doors shut and France was alone again with the horrible elevator music; it's fake cheerfulness even more disgusting in the current context. He groaned and tried to stimulate himself by shifting and pressing his legs together. After only a few attempts he stopped completely, it did nothing but chafe him. So he sat, miserably waiting for whoever else was going to stroll onto the elevator and take advantage of him. He quietly hoped that the smell of piss would shoo anyone else away but he seriously doubted it.

The entire world was proving itself to be more of a pervert than even France himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have most of this already written so I'm gonna post everyday till I catch up.


	3. Chapter 3

France did not have to wait long, on the very next floor the elevator opened with a weary ding and Japan's slender silhouette paused in the doorway. He was wearing a traditional yukata; casual, comfortable, and cobalt fabric which only lent itself to accentuate his sudden steaming blush. As Japan's scandalized gaze absorbed France's rather unsavory  _ predicament _ he was certain the Asian country was going to faint from pure shock.

Japan stumbled back out of the way of the closing door looking as if he were on the verge of either bowing or apologizing. France rolled his eyes knowing Japan wouldn't be able to help him. However the small country still managed to surprise him; at the last possible second, Japan's frozen flabbergast thawed beneath the tempting heat of kinky profitability. He whipped a digital camera out from the breast of his yukata and snapped at least three shots before the door closed completely, a thin line of blood dripping from his nose.

France stared incredulously at the sealed doors knowing those photos were probably already on their way to circulate on the internet. He sighed in defeat and let his head sink down to rest on his chest.

Sure, there were plenty of naked pictures of him online but none were as damningly humiliating as his current position.

The next few floors passed by without incident, France was so exhausted he felt himself drifting to the drone of elevator music. His reprieve didn't last long however as he heard a loud brash voice through the closed door. As the elevator finally stopped and opened, France already knew who to expect.

America swaggered in and did a comical double-take when he saw France. He burst out laughing as the doors closed behind him.

"What the hell, France! What happened to you? You're all tied up and you smell like piss-ass." America laughed again, unable to contain himself from pointing, literally  _ pointing _ , out the obvious.

"Man, you'd better hope England doesn't find you like this, he would totally wale on your ass. Or in your ass? Hahaha!" America laughed brashly, overly loud, though France couldn't quite catch if it was to cover up his nervousness or if he genuinely found the whole affair worth such vociferous guffaws. He tiptoed closer, peering down between France's legs and whistled lowly at the bloody stretch he found there.

"Damn, someone fucked you up good. It's kinda gross, heh heh…" America straightened and scratched his nose before tucking his hands in his pockets when he noticed France was still glowered at him.

He had expected that of any country to help him, it would be America. He was always looking for any excuse to stoke his self-proclaimed hero status and this definitely counted as a crisis. Despite not having the best opinion of the upstart country, as well as being something of a professional appraiser of gift horse's mouths, France wouldn't dare turn down an offer of chivalry; he was even willing to play up the part of damsel in distress if it would please America into action.

But America just looked on, grinning widely, and didn't move. As they reached the next floor he still didn't leave, the door opened and closed without incident. Instead he just pulled a permanent black marker from a pocket in his bomber jacket and stalked closer as he uncapped it.

He continued to grin and snort to himself as he grabbed the crown of France's head holding him still as he drew something on France's right cheek. The smell of chemicals filled France's nostrils and his nose scrunched up in distaste. He tried to shake his head free but America clenched his fingers getting a painful fist of hair and held him still that way. France closed his eyes in a grimace as the permanent black strips were plied to his face. America's look of concentration, tongue peeking out and everything, softened as he finished his artwork with a flourish; he stepped back to admire his creation and immediately burst into riotous peals of laughter yet again.

France couldn't spare the energy to roll his eyes, he was afraid even that small motion would tip off the dizziness left by the chemicals being shoved in (and on) his face. Instead he smoldered, silent and still until the smell dissolved and the hyena laughter faded.

"Now it looks like you are sucking on a cock!" America explained, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye.

France could only heave a world-weary sigh with a childish penis drawn in permanent ink on his face. The elevator stopped again with a destined  _ ding  _ and America turned to look at the figure who stepped on.

"What on earth are you doing in here, America? It smells horrendous and you are already late for the…" The voice trailed off as America grinned and jerked a thumb back at France.

However, France already knew who it was, the nasally accent was unmistakable. He felt himself melting into a mortified puddle as England stared disbelievingly at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two for one! I know it's short. Next chapter, which is more substantial, is coming at midnight.


	4. Chapter 4

America poked at England.

"Hey, didn't you say we were late for something?" America asked, jostling England's shoulder, laughing as he did it. England swatted him off irritably, his attention clearly diverted by the bound man in front of him.

"America, you… You go on ahead. I'm going to be late," England murmured, his eyes never leaving France's. His visage slowly morphed from a stunned gape to a sadistic leer.

"I had a feeling you were going to say that. Don't make too much of a mess, okay love?"

"Yeah, sure, sure." England waved America away.

"Because despite your claim that I have no long term memory outside of knowing the entire menu at McDonalds, I  _ do  _ recall what you said you wish you could do to France."

"Yes, I know," England didn't bother to deny it, still staring at France with a terrifying look that could only be classified as raptorial.

"Wow, okay then… Well I won't be coming to your room tonight, that's totally gross!" America blanched and backed up, raising his hands with a nervous laugh. The sudden intensity seemed to unnerve him and he side-stepped off at the next floor with a grin and a wave, shrugging ruefully at France while England had his back turned.

As the door eased shut England quietly stepped over to the control panel and pressed the stop button. France slumped miserably, looking at the floor. He could only imagine what plans England had in store for him. Their destructive rivalry went back farther than anyone else's, there was no way England would pass up this golden opportunity to up the ante.

Indeed the first thing England did when he turned around was to wordlessly crush his boot between France's legs, grinding harshly and digging his heel in. France immediately jerked forward with a scream, trying to pull his hips in and away from the crushing cruelty. England caught the fringe of his hair as he leaned forward, holding his head up, laughing lowly as he watched tears gather around the rims of France's eyes. He continued to press down until they finally spilled over, only then did he lift his boot and watch as France curled in on himself like a bruised leaf.

England knelt down, a wicked smile still lit upon his face.

"Now what's this down here, hmm?"

England gripped the short exposed end of the cuckoo arm and pulled hard. It yanked out far easier than it had gone in, but without any of the kind caution that Hungary had used, the brusque movement still managed to send out little shockwaves. France writhed under the horrendous rending sensation even after it was completely removed, his ass and insides were rimmed with fire and he had been so overstretched he couldn't even clench it closed to prevent a cool tendril of air from entering him. The raw draft stung his insides, making it appallingly obvious how completely  _ fucked  _ he was, in every ironic meaning of the word.

England gave a low whistle, impressed with the huge splinter he had extracted, dangling it gingerly between his thumb and index finger to avoid dirtying his hands on the streaks of blood.

"Well, you know I'd love to fuck you when you are all wrapped up for me like this but I'd hate getting sloppy seconds from a cuckoo clock. Not to mention I would rather avoid getting any splinters it left behind from plundering your ass," England paused, letting the offending item drop to the floor and roll away.

"However I do recall something that you got for  _ my  _ birthday; do you remember France? That perverted toy you thought I would never use? Got a good laugh watching me open that in front of everyone didn't you? Never thought it would come back and bite you, did you old boy?" England patted his head as if he were a particularly shaggy dog. France could feel his stomach sinking until it dangled somewhere around his kneecaps, he  _ did  _ remember that gag gift and it didn't bode well for him.

England slipped a hand into the interior of his green jacket, dug around for a second, and finally emerged with his prize: A long thin rubber sleeve studded with thick nubs all across it.

"You have to admit, the French Tickler is aptly named in a situation like this," England laughed loudly at that, obviously proud of himself and gloating at France's expense, "The irony is  _ delicious _ ."

France could do little but glare up at England through the strands of his hair, not even able to physically look down on the shorter country as he normally did.

England undid his trousers and let his erection bob into the air, breathing heavily as he rolled the rubber sheath onto his cock. He faced France, grinning evilly, and pushed his chair so that it leaned sideways against the wall. France's face was pressed and bent against the wall, uncomfortable and precariously balanced on only two feet yet again.

"Now I can fuck you sideways properly, no worries about blood or splinters or anything." England gripped one of France's trussed up legs, holding it to his chest so he could thrust at France's exposed hole. In that last second his eyes began to glow a sinister green, a look France recognized: it was the same eerie flame that flared right before the swing of his sword, before the shot of his pistol, before his flag penetrated someone else's land.

It was the look of a blood-thirsty Empire.  _ Domination. _

His eyes flashed with every shade of emerald offered by the prism, as well as a few that couldn't be natural, before thrusting into France with a victorious groan. It barely took any pressure at all, his sheathed cock slipped inside with a soft, wet noise. France whined at the intrusion, he was still raw and tender from the cuckoo arm but England paid it no attention. He was too wrapped up in the wet heat encasing his cock, easily taking him to the hilt as he began to thrust rapidly, violently. He gripped France's leg so he could snap his hips forward more efficiently and used his other hand to hold and tear at France's hair.

France groaned at the assault, breath coming fast through his nostrils, and he tried to hold himself rigid to avoid being drawn into England's relentless rhythm. Despite the intentionally awkward position, and despite the intentionally painful violence, France couldn't help but feel a tiny writhing flame of deranged pleasure from the sensation of England's cock pistoning in and out of his ravaged hole. He was much smaller than the cuckoo arm had been, flesh much softer than wood as well and the tickler nubs were actually pleasantly stimulating, rumpling and bumping and tickling his entrance with every thrust. It was still horribly painful of course, fucking what had literally become an open wound, but it felt wonderful nonetheless when compared to the cold and impossibly large plank that had been reamed inside him before.

England gave a harsh, panting laugh when he saw France's half-erect cock begin to rise valiantly once more even beneath the enormous weight of self-loathing.

"Oh this is too good, you're such a beast France, only you would find this arousing being tied up and fucked bloody in an elevator. Too bad it's not going to be that easy…" Still thrusting relentlessly, England reached up and plucked France's ribbon from his hair. It had already come loose and was just dangling uselessly around his tangled tresses. He paused for a moment to tie it tightly around the base of France's cock, the cord biting into him and holding everything taut. After finishing it off with a gaudy bow England slapped him harshly across the face with a laugh and picked up his pace again.

"Now I don't have to worry… about you getting some… sick thrill from all this… it's punishment, you know," England grunted between precise thrusts. France whimpered as the intensity redoubled, contrasting sharply with the building pressure in his cock. He didn't know how long he could stand it like that, forcibly bent in half and taken by England of all people; the nubs were torturing him with unrequited pleasure and everything was held taut and sharpened beneath a constant slick of pain.

England was panting heavily now, swiveling in and out rapidly while his eyes glazed over in pleasure. Despite all that he didn't really seem close at all, letting out a frustrated growl as he continually hit the mark deep within France without actually meeting his own. Eventually he scooped up France's other leg, holding them together against his chest to try and tighten the channel. France's torso was still twisted uncomfortably in the chair leaned against the wall and he strained to right himself.

With one arm still wrapped around the folded legs against his chest, England lashed out and backhanded France sharply across the face. The blow knocked his head back against the wall and stunned him, sharp tendrils of pain squirming under his skin across his face while his skull heated up and throbbed at the impact. England, conversely, shuddered with a moan.

"Now that's what you need France, a good old donkey-punch to tighten up your slutty carcass. I don't know why I didn't think of it before."

England dug his hand into the golden tangle of France's hair and yanked him upright before he let his hand fly again. France was still stunned from the first blow and didn't even feel the second; it was merely an extension of the pain as hazy white impact dots were thrown across his vision once more. The thrusts continued unabated though they were losing some of their controlled edge as England became more frenzied. It took one more skull-shattering blow before England gasped and stilled deep within France. The Tickler caught the release but France was just coherent enough to feel some reeling disgust over England's cock twitching inside him as he came.

England finally pulled out and rolled the Tickler off. France gazed blearily at him, noticing the edge of his fist was red with blood.  _ His  _ blood he realized belatedly, sniffing his nose and tasting thick metal drain down the back of his throat. He hadn't even realized he was bleeding.

After making himself decent England faced France again, obviously not ready to settle with a single, simple revenge fuck. He kicked at the chair's feet and it fell level again with a shuddering crash, France felt jarred by the impact though everything was beginning to run together. It was turning into one long string of crashes, each one resounding off the other until France's head felt like it was filled with the din of cracking bones despite the relative silence of the elevator. Through his concussive miasma he could see a few drops of blood roll slowly down his chest, cutting through the patches of half dried piss.

England pulled out a slim cigarette and lit up, leaning contently against the wall. All the blows seemed to have stunned France and he wasn't as fun when he wasn't glaring poisoned daggers at England. Just as well, England felt like he needed a breather as well after his knee-buckling release. He calmly blew smoke rings against France's face to amuse himself, watching in satisfaction as France coughed awkwardly, through his nose.

He hadn't even finished half the cigarette before the elevator began to look a bit hazy; the smoke had nowhere to go in the sealed box. England sighed and nonchalantly stubbed the cigarette out against France's chest, lifting it and stubbing it again and again in a hopscotch line across France's flesh until the end finally lost its ember-red hue. The pain of the burning ash was concentrated enough that each time it touched him France would jerk and whine against the gag. England looked smugly at the blistering line of red dots and calmly, yet cruelly, slapped France again to get his attention back.

"Look at what a bloody fuckin mess you're making, snail-sucking pig. I've gotta plug you up again if you can't even keep your fluids to yourself."

England grinned and stooped to pick up the cuckoo arm again. France felt tears spring instinctively to his eyes and his stomach flopped into a hollow pit at the mere sight of the torturous item. He knew what to expect and the knowledge of unavoidable, oncoming pain made him feel suddenly nauseous.

France tried to pull his legs in, hold them together, twisted in his chair, anything to stop England as he approached. But it was no use. France was still too weak and being bound down made it even more apparent. England easily spread his legs and stepped between them. He pressed the arm against the bloody ring of muscle as France hyperventilated over his gag. He was sweating heavily, eyes wide yet seeing nothing, it was obvious how distressed he was, reacting in a pavlovian panic as the pain drew nearer to him.

The dumb fear almost put England off. He was sadistically vengeful but only when he knew France was cognizant enough to fully appreciate the depths he was willing to go. The blind panic of a victim was not what he wanted to hurt; it was the glaring humiliation of a century-old rival he wanted to dominate.

England sighed. There was no point distending him any further if he couldn't even make eye contact. He dropped the cuckoo arm yet again, letting it clatter loudly against the floor so France would know. Indeed, deeply dilated blue eyes suddenly flickered up to meet his jade, awareness dredged up from England's concession.

"Now you can't claim I never did anything for you," England muttered, still planted firmly between France's legs. Seeing him come around again was inspiration enough for a new method, something a little more refined and reined-in though still just as effective. Once again England dipped into his interior jacket pocket and emerged with a pocket-sized sewing repair kit.

France wasn't at all surprised that prissy England carried one with him. However the evil glint of the safety pin made him uneasy; that sharp point was no laughing matter.

England pulled out his lighter as well and flicked it on, licking the tongue of fire over and around the needle. After a few more seconds of sterilization he eyed the blistering hot needle and then grinned indicatively at France who had already shrugged his shoulders up to protect his ears as best he could. Honestly a piercing didn't sound half as bad as some of the other atrocities he had been through already but he still didn't want something so sharp anywhere near him when England was in control of the other end of it.

But the island wasn't even bothering with his ears; instead he leaned over, pulled the sign off his neck and began to slowly tear the duct tape off France's nipples in a searing tug of war. He was being deliberately slow with it and France had two tacky, throbbing X's left on his chest to prove it.

England chuckled before leaning down to sooth his tongue over them.

It felt  _ good _ , especially after so much unwarranted violence. Soft and warm and clever, the tongue sent little warm sparks across France's chest like flicks rippling down a chain and his nipples quickly hardened in response. France idly wondered if England was encountering any residual piss while lapping around down there but he could only take a small and weary joy in the thought; he knew the ministrations were only preparation for something worse.

Somewhere between pirating and punk rock England had picked up the skills of a professional piercer though he would never admit it out loud while in his normal straight-laced gentleman facade.

Indeed, he was all business as he drew the needle closer, sharp end hovering over France's left nipple. England grabbed the small nub and twisted it and then blew on it making it grow even harder. Once satisfied he lined the needle up horizontally on one side, his firm yet porous pin cushion pressed snug on the other.

"Ready poppet? Don't forget to breathe," England murmured gleefully. He was truly enjoying the vindication, fake pet names were proof of that, but it was still good advice to heed. As France felt the first hint of sting he breathed out heavily and deeply, which would have worked under normal circumstances when the piercing would be done fast enough the pain could barely keep up. However England was not fast, he tensed and pushed in short, microscopic bursts, pressing the needle through at glacial speed so that France was victim to every agonizing millimeter. It slowly transformed into a cruel fang boring through him rather than a needle, oozing venom into his body and making his entire chest throb in pain.

France keened and squirmed even though moving made the painful poison pump faster. England tutted and smoothly pressed the rest of the way through, France swore he could feel the skip pop on the other side. He slumped as England carefully snapped the pin closed and that jolt went straight to his core as well.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it? I'll even go faster on the second one because those hurt more."

France glared at England as best he could though he knew the concentrated venom of his fiercest stare was rather diluted by this point. Already he could feel endorphins singing in his head, making his limbs shaky in a strange new way the previous wounds and abuses littered across his body hadn't engendered. The sympathetic nervous system was a cruelly (or ironically) named structure in that it made him more ready for a fight or flight (neither of which were really an option) while doing absolutely nothing to garner actual sympathy for him. Sharpening his senses just made things  _ worse _ .

England was smug as he pulled the second safety pin out, unclasping and lighting it as he had the first. And then, before France was even ready, England pinched his right nipple  _ hard,  _ pulled it taut and pressed the needle through in one motion as if he were merely sewing through fabric rather than sensitive flesh. The suddenness of it caught France by surprise and the sensation was rather like a small and highly concentrated lightning bolt, especially when his body was still feeling the effect of the first one. The degree of difference between the two piercings heightened and contrasted both as they flared in time with his heartbeat and play ping pong across his chest with a sharp ball of pain.

Shaking and sweating, France let his head fall forward to shield his face from England's scathing smirk; and so he felt rather than saw when England gripped his cock and dug this thumb into the tip. His hand was dry and cruel, squeezing and pinching so harshly France couldn't stop the whimpers that seeped between his clenched teeth. But it wasn't until England crushed France's balls with his other hand that France finally moved, jerking back with a muffled bark of pain as England seemed intent on prying them  _ off. _

He finally managed to raise his head, eyes smarting and watering, and a bright flashing ring caught his attention first, a shining metal band was held between England's teeth as he continued to torture France's cock and balls. The sight opened up more fear-filled questions but it at least answered why he wasn't victim to England's crowing on top of everything else. He had no idea what England intended to  _ do  _ with it, only that it looked thick, heavy and industrial.

Not to mention absolutely terrifying.

As England's harsh hands began to rise, focusing the torture on the tip, pulling the skin of the head away from his body in an obscenely painful stretch, a horrifying idea perched in France's mind. The huge ring, the strange fixation on his cock, the way England seemed to be drooling in delight. The thought made him struggle, or at least make another attempt as the tape dug into his limbs. England noticed the futile fight and merely fisted France's cock in warning to still him. The head, sore and reddened by this point, stuck out from England's grip and it was where he focused, touching the center gently, pushing the skin aside to see the wet silt of the opening. Holding it open that way with one hand he finally reached up and fetched the ring from his mouth with the other, grinning sickly as he did so.

"Now you have to hold still for this one, nipples aren't as important if they get botched but if you still plan on pissing standing up then you'd better do your best to hold onto those quivers." England actually sounded serious, still mocking of course, but it still sent a lump of ice straight into France's gut to hear the gravity in England's voice.

He really meant to… To do  _ that  _ to him…

The sharp and hollow tip that emerged from the ring terrified France, he felt static filling his head as his hips jerked away involuntarily.

England squeezed the exposed head, bracing both himself and France as he pressed a soft and smooth bit of tubing into the tip of his cock. France hadn't even noticed England holding it; he was too preoccupied with the gleaming, hooped  _ spike _ (it was far too large and menacing to be considered a mere needle anymore). England drew closer with a serious knot of concentration pulling his brows together. The silent aplomb only made France's insides twist further with sick, trembling fear; despite the care England was taking it only made it worse because that meant it was a more serious piercing, more dangerous at the very least.

England pressed the sharp end through the tubing shield, held the point right against France's cock and paused for only a second.

"Hold still, and breathe out…  _ now _ ." France had no choice but to do as ordered, panicked as he was, and he forced his lungs empty in a single gush even as his cock felt the sharpest, hottest acidic quill stab through the bottom of the glans in a burning rush. It happened so fast, France's scream was half a second late as the piercing was already done before the concentrated pain flared and spread like wildfire until his entire cock throbbed in blazing commiseration. The spike had gone through cleanly and quickly, circling the head like a sideways metal crown.

England let out a breath of his own and began to shimmy the protective tubing out before screwing a ball on to close the circle. France could do little but hold himself rigid until the sunflare-bright pain dimmed. His cock felt heavy, weighted, and it drooped as England let go despite the impromptu cockring-ribbon still cruelly cinched around his girth.

England had the exact opposite problem, apparently the display and piercing power play was enough to turn him on; as he stood France could see the obvious swell between his legs once again.

France suddenly felt lightheaded as the pain from his cock continued to radiate upwards, reaching his stomach which had already started to churn at the sight of the piercing. The nausea rose up to follow as the natural companion to vertigo and France shook his head as his stomach heaved. He tried to lean to the side as a sickly warm torrent surged up his throat and collided in his taped-off mouth. England saw and quickly ripped the gag off before France choked himself. He coughed and choked anyway, barely getting the sick past his own body.

England stepped back and let him finish, wrinkling his nose at odious smell bottled within the elevator; a murkier cocktail had never been made, and his nose had no choice but to sip at the toxic concoction of sweat, fear, humiliation, piss, and puke.

France gasped for breath and then spit, trying to rid the foul taste from his mouth. After a second he growled and attempted to spit at England instead; it fell just short of his shoes. England merely took another step back with a wry smile, silent as France got his voice back.

"How- how  _ dare  _ you, how dare you do this to me…" France snarled, his voice low and gravelly from being gagged followed by the unexpected gagging.

England actually laughed at that.

"I'd say it's an improvement to that swayback sausage you always seem so proud of showing off when nobody wants to see it. At least now you'll have a willing audience with the magpies."

France opened his mouth to roar a reply but was cut off by the back of England's open hand; the smaller country stepped forward and opened his fly while France still reeled from the blow.

"There you go, love. Now no biting or I'll turn this dangly piercing into a cheese cutter." England's smile was pure promise and France knew better to call a bluff that wasn't there; he shuddered at the visual image and his hips squirmed in discomfort. When England pressed the moist head of his cock against his lips he hesitated only a moment before he opened up and let him in. There was only the vaguest hint of lingering latex from the Tickler before eager thrusts washed it down France's throat.

Whether it was the overpowering stench of the elevator that was hurrying him along or the prior piercing power play that heightened his arousal, it didn't take much to set England off a second time. He held France's head and violently jerked him along his length so that his eyes screwed shut by the tearing grip in his hair and the constant pounding against his bruised gag reflex. It only took a few more seconds of this before England was gasping in pleasure when France purposefully pursed his lips. England drew out with a groan and pumped himself a couple more times to completion, shooting his load onto France's face with a breathy, triumphant cry.

It landed in strips across France's mouth, cheeks, nose; a creamy spurt of it even managed to hit his eye and France hissed in pain and indignation as it burned.

"Yet another improvement," England snorted as he tucked himself away. He jabbed the stop button to set the elevator moving again and with a swift pat of France's bowed head stepped off at the next floor.

France managed to get his breath back just in time to yell at England.

"I won't forget this you English pig-dog!"

Without missing a beat England turned on his heel to yell back before the door shut.

"Bring it on snail-sucker! I know the shiny weakness between your legs!"

And with that, the doors slid shut ensuring England got the last word. France heaved angrily, leaning back in his chair and tried to wipe his mouth with the nub of his shoulder. His eye was still watering and smarting from the ejaculate that was beginning to dry there. His chest and cock formed a triangle of pain, each corner throbbing brighter in turn, though his cock continued to garner the lion's share of his attention.

"Mon ami, je suis désolé… I couldn't protect you," France mumbled, head hanging in defeat. He and his cock had a loving and successful relationship; he wasn't sure how the metal interloper would affect them. His cock drooped in reply, weeping, in the sad and bad way.

He had little time to contemplate their strained future as the elevator shuddered to a halt at the next floor.


	5. Chapter 5

The doors parted to reveal China in his traditional flowing garb, deep red silk robes with golden twining dragons intricately stitched across the crimson cloth. His hands were folded together inside his wide sleeves which drew up to his face in a horrified gasp as his dark eyes settled on France.

"France? What happened to you?" China screeched, eyes spinning as he took in the sight of France sprawled open on the chair, double nipple rings and a heavy cock ring, covered in come and piss and blood and bruises. After a second however his hands dropped and his face took on something of a disgruntled pout.

"Did you pay for someone to do this to you?" China deadpanned.

France huffed irritably.

"Of course not; obviously I have been tied up and left to the whims of the world. Now would you be so kind as to release me?" France drawled, accent thick with sarcasm though he didn't expect his demand to be met and his cheeks still flared with discomfiture as China continued to give him a critical once over.

"Actually, somehow I'm not all that surprised," China conceded and entered the elevator, quite over his initial shock. "You brought this sort of revenge on yourself by being such a letch." China pulled back his long sleeves and quickly began to rifle through France's shredded clothes. He smiled serenely when he found France's wallet in his back pocket, slipping it out and removing the bills.

"And by being a  _ thief _ I might add," China added and he smiled prettily as he pocketed the money. Once empty, China hefted the pocketbook, rubbed at it and examined the interior stitching; after establishing that it was indeed a high quality wallet he appropriated that into his long sleeves as well.

France glowered though he didn't say anything, vainly hoping that would be all China was content to do to him. The self-satisfied settling of scores continued, smugness sliding around him like sinuous lines of smoke.

"Though when you stole from me you did leave something behind for the so-called 'trade', something I still have to carry with me even now," China continued unprompted.

France jerked up to meet China's perceptibly cooler gaze.

"I never forced that on you, it was England's idea anyway and you didn't  _ have  _ to take it!"

"Ah, so it's my fault now; France, it's not healthy to blame everyone else when you are the one tied up." One of China's delicate hands emerged with a tiny origami hexagon tucked between two fingers. France didn't know immediately what it was but there were only a few powders that China could still legally carry on his person.

"China, please, like I said it should be England you spew venom on, not me!"

"And, like  _ I  _ said, England's not tied up here, you are. And you are also to blame." China gripped France's hair wrenching his head back as the origami opened like a blooming tree blossom hovering over his face. "Not to mention it looks like your 'little friend' down there could use some help. Take responsibility."

China tilted his hand ever so slightly, as if pouring delicate green tea, except it was pure drug floating down onto his face instead, like motes of aphrodisiacal snow. France tried to hold his breath, to shake his head, but the flustering only seemed to suck it in more. It settled on his eyes, was breathed into his nose, and even floated into his mouth when a particularly vicious yank forced a gasp of pain from his parted lips. Whatever it was it would absorb through any mucous membrane, hence China's rather liberal way of administering it. Indeed his sinuses felt like they were lodged with cotton, his throat suddenly felt parched and his eyes burned.

China stepped back and refolded the paper, tucking it safely away in his sleeve once more. When he turned back France's pupils had already begun to dilate, his eyes turning a deeper shade of blue as the drug began to spike his circulatory system causing his veins to open and his heart to race. He gave an abrupt sneeze and the brusque motion seemed to stun him. France could feel his blood turning thick, turning sweet, and his heart strained to force the syrupy sensation through his limbs. Whatever it was it was fast-acting and potent as well; France was already panting (even the air itself felt sensitive to him) and his erection had returned despite the fresh and painful add-on. The forced full-body arousal also sharpened any other sensation that happened to hitch a ride, the aches seemed to glow, the piercings were lightning rods, and even the blood still dripping sluggishly down his chest tickled in a disturbing way. It was strange; the drug made pain feel good, in a heavy-handed sort of way, but simultaneously made everything all the more unbearable from being ramped up so high. Every sensation hit him like a wave: deep, roiling, heavy, and France was sure he was going to drown beneath them.

China watched silently as the drug took effect, patient as ever, and it was only when France was writhing on the chair gasping for breath that simply wouldn't satisfy that he stepped forward and allowed the sleeves of his robes to part, letting his porcelain hand reach toward France.

For the first time since the ride began France eagerly leaned forward to take a country into his mouth, straining against his bonds in order to get some sort of contact with the flesh, desperation mounting as warm fireworks went off in slow motion over the planes of his body. He needed something, something outside himself, to help ground his sparking and dizzy nerves. The bonds holding him in place helped keep him together but it was the warmth of China's graceful fingers gently entering his mouth that jolted his senses in a fit of hyper-awareness, dragging every feeling he had into line to marvel at the digits that were suddenly a part of him.

He knew it must be the drug, the fact that he could  _ see  _ China's fingers from the inside of his mouth and  _ hear _ their minute scraping caress across his trembling tongue, but it was at least understandable that he could taste, smell, and feel the fingers. And three out of five logical senses weren't too bad odds.

Still, he wanted more. He wanted it to dip through his pores, touch him from the inside and become an integral part of him just so he had a place to focus his wildly burning body. The single point of contact wasn't enough to pull him up from beneath the drugged swell.

"China, please, please, touch me, fuck me, do anything, just please, please touch me!" France gasped breathlessly as he drew back from China's fingers, returning the second the words left his lips as if it was unbearable to leave the mooring even long enough to talk.

China smirked. He was enjoying the way France suckled his fingers, nursing them with mortifyingly desperate vigor. However, now that he had begged, the game was set and China had finished his part.

"You are far too mouthy, France; you need to be more subtle in your technique if you want any real success," China said with smug finality, pulling his fingers away despite France's mewling protests. His hips continued to writhe in pleading little circles but China ignored it, turning instead to set the elevator in motion again.

The elevator reached the next floor a few seconds later and China stepped lightly off; for him it was revenge enough just seeing France reduced to such a pathetic state. The money was also a good form of payment for all the times France had stolen from his house. He smiled easily as the doors closed, watching France squirm to the last second.

France was alone again. A normally blessed period of too-short rest had been transformed into yet another new torture for him. His body strained, twisted, gyrated against his bonds, desperate for motion, for feeling, for  _ anything _ to skim off the swelling that threatened to burst. It felt like a volcano, his core heavy and boiling, skin trembling as the temperature rose, though he had no idea from where it would eventually rend and erupt.

His isolated torment didn't last very long, there was someone waiting on the very next floor.

Greece came slowly into view, sandals shuffling like leather paws as he ambled onto the elevator. If he was surprised by France squirming in bondage he concealed his shock remarkably well; as far as France could tell, only a couple deliberate blinks marked the occasion. Greece turned and faced the door, yawning. France waited with bated breath until the doors came together and the elevator started moving before it became obvious that Greece had no plans to molest him.

France groaned in distress, trying to catch Greece's wandering attention. His eyes rolled slowly over to his trussed companion and he heaved a completely unnecessary sigh.

"I heard you wanted to return the Olympics outfits to their original form. Good job getting a head start I guess, though you missed a couple spots," Greece mumbled slowly, taking his time to lowly pronounce each word almost as if savoring the syllables, though France knew it was purely due to his lackadaisical nature.

Greece was partly right though; the accumulated handiwork of several vindictive countries had turned his clothing into rags strewn about the floor of the elevator, designer flotsam in a shallow sea of filth. France himself was for all intents and purposes completely naked except for the cuffs still stubbornly taped down around his arms and legs.

"Greece, as much as I can appreciate minimalism of attire at a sporting event that's obviously not the case here. Now either untie me or fuck me!" France ended up shrieking by the end of it. The slowness Greece exuded was infuriating. Like a cat being pet backwards, France felt himself losing his composure; he needed to be stroked so badly it  _ hurt _ .

"Mmm, I'm pretty tired actually. Japan already wore me out showing me those pictures earlier. Made me late for my nap, even" Greece murmured.

"P-pictures?" France stuttered, able to feel only the tiniest tendril of cool fear trickle through his overheated internal furnace. He swallowed heavily and the feeling evaporated as quickly as it came. "Fine, I don't care what you two did with those pictures and frankly I don't want to know. But could you untie me at the very least?"

Greece looked him over, his jaded expression matching the color of his eyes.

"Eh, that's alright. The tape looks too troublesome," Greece concluded with an approving yet terribly unhelpful nod.

It figured; the one time he actually  _ wanted _ to be molested he got the one guy too lazy to bother with it. France was in tears by that point; he needed to be touched so badly the yearning was beginning to overwhelm him. The syrup was coalescing, his skin was thrumming; every artificial pleasure had turned to persecution, punishing him for not indulging when his entire body had been transformed into a bare nerve begging to be stoked.

As the doors opened again, only one flight down from where he originally got on, Greece shuffled off again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> China was referring to the Opium Wars in the beginning, yeah taking some liberties. Also the drug he uses on France is an imaginary aphrodisiac not really based on anything. Convenient.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, notice the underage warning tag that's been on here from chapter one? This is where it starts taking effect. Just making sure everyone reading signed up for this content.

Just as the doors began to meld together, France heard the rapid patter of feet and none other than Sealand leapt through the crack of the opening, landing with his arms up as if he had just performed an Olympic tumble run. He looked pleased with himself for all of half a second before it was replaced with a scowl.

"I didn't know  _ you  _ were on here!" Sealand whined, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Perhaps you should look before you leap next time," France sneered as well, even with the near-crippling arousal still surging through him. Despite being brought to tears by a lack of physical contact, France had absolutely no interest in engaging the micro-nation in either touching or talking.

Their dislike was mutual, England had already tried to fob the nuisance off on him before, an arrangement both of them despised and rejected outright. Indeed Sealand expressed his aversion by first sticking out his tongue followed by a swift kick to France's shin.

The sudden blow felt like a meteorite, a pain of impact that shot white skittering sparks through his body and across his vision, the drug sharpening and compounding the crash until France thought he might faint beneath its unnaturally magnified weight.

Sealand watched with widening eyes as France moaned and writhed and responded entirely inappropriately to being kicked in the shin. The lewd display seemed to pacify him, or perhaps it was merely childish confusion; regardless he was silent for a long moment as France continued to try and fuck thin air.

"What's wrong with you?" Sealand finally asked, pouting angrily.

"I-it's nothing!" France gasped, trying desperately to regain control of himself; a difficult task as his hips rutted in rebellion.

Sealand's lips curled in disgust.

"You're acting weird… Why are you tied up anyway? Did you make someone mad? What's that smell? What's wrong with your peepee?" Sealand fired off in rapid child-like succession; however the last query succeeded in muffling France's involuntary movement.

"My pee-? Oh god…" France groaned as Sealand's immaturity made itself apparent yet again. "Nothing's wrong with it, I'm just… uh, just  _ excited _ ," France stumbled over an explanation but in truth he was so far beyond mere excitement. The drugs were still circulating through him and he still felt dangerously off-balance, capable of melting at the seams without some sensation holding him together. He could barely  _ think  _ at the moment, let alone try to explain manhood to an irritating brat.

"It looks gross! And there's a ring in it!" Sealand's eyes grew wider, if it was possible, and he scooted closer to examine the jewelry. "Ew, did that hurt?" The little country squirmed uncomfortably, tucking his hands protectively between his own legs.

France heard the question but couldn't answer; he was too busy holding himself back from bucking up into the warm humidity Sealand breathed over him. Leaning too close, breathing too candidly, it would have been easy to jerk his hips and rub his cock against one of those soft silky cheeks. Only the self-loathing that fired off from every neuron was strong enough to counteract the drug's demand for contact in whatever form possible.

Sealand obviously didn't appreciate the mental battle France was waging on behalf of his inexperienced innocence. Instead the child was clasped hand in hand with malice and anarchy, a little hellion bent on figuring out how things worked by tearing them apart.

Morbidly fascinated by the grinning silver hoop he reached forward, tiny finger extended to poke at the metal. He barely prodded it but France still felt the slight transfer of motion as a sudden scalding sear, a full-body shock, a brilliance of motion that caused him to leap against his bonds.

" _ Please _ !" France gasped in short-breathed desperation, though even he couldn't tell if he meant to ask for Sealand to stop or keep going.

The child paused, glanced up, eyes sparkling with newfound glee. Like a mischievous magpie drawn to the shiny trinket, he plucked at it again to elicit another shuddering sob from France. He giggled some more and then actually held the head of France's cock as delicately as he could in his puerile grip and began to twist the ring back and forth with his other hand.

"How does this come off?" Sealand asked, only minutely bothered by the way France rattled against the chair like an overwrought jackhammer.

Despite the downright disturbing situation he found himself in, France couldn't help but feel awash in the relief of being touched, even if it was fleeting and light caresses. France had very few social fetters when it came to sex but even those scant lines were easily being crossed as he began to thrust against Sealand's small clammy hands. They felt wonderful, delicious, soothing; a full argosy of adjectives amounting to the idea of  _ so-fucking-good. _ Sealand's fiddling hands were divine in those seconds.

"Hey! Hold still!" Sealand whined before he actually grabbed France's cock and fisted it to hold the older country down.

France could feel an orgasm rising from the sudden strength in Sealand's grip; he could feel it glowing like a warm living thing in his lower belly, circling a delayed lap of pleasure inside before surging up. The feeling was intensified twofold, the drugs as well as the makeshift cock ring forced his release exquisitely through a sieve until it came out on the other side as pure alabaster heat.

"I think I got it!" Sealand chirped. France barely heard it as everything inside him was rushing to a point but he  _ did _ notice the sudden searing pain against the tip of his cock. It felt like he was being branded with a fire rod, his moan of release quickly morphed into a howl of agony as the burning revealed itself to be an obscene stretching. Sealand had forced the ball on the ring into his opening, dilation its own form of torture as he felt his oncoming orgasm batter against the new and frighteningly painful block. It surged, raged, thrashed against the hindrance before slowly filtering back into France's shell-shocked body. The denial on top of the pain was beyond cruel.

"Oops, maybe that wasn't right…" Sealand muttered the words only mild peppered with guilt. More so he seemed to be laughing at the way France writhed against the specific and concentrated abuse. He hadn't meant to hurt France but now that he had… Well, he did look silly wiggling around like that!

With horrendous timing the elevator slowed to the next floor and the ever-cheerful ding announced their arrival. Sealand grinned skittishly and leapt off much the same way he had entered. He didn't want to be caught on the elevator with France and blamed for his condition. He had only moved a small piece anyway! The rest of it wasn't his fault and he didn't want to be blamed.

Instead he stuck his tongue out at France again as the doors drew together, sending a wet raspberry floating through the crack before they closed completely.


	7. Chapter 7

The orgasm denial was a cruel thing. France was already simmering beneath the surface of alien arousal and the rising heat from his loins had offered a small hope of outpouring for the sensations bursting inside him. Having that release valve punched shut just as the pleasure was frothing forth sent everything rebounding in him; the orgasm, which should have been a quick and wonderful flare, had been transformed into a searing internal brand, lighting his loins with an unbearable and unquenchable heat. It cut off his voice and his breath and it made everything inside him ache and glow phosphorus with equal parts want and woe.

The forced denial did at least one good thing for him, the painful contention seemed to shuttle his sensory input and output into their respective places; he was no longer suffering from synesthesia as his visions stayed up in his eyes, sounds loitered in his ears only and even his sense of touch finally decided to limit itself to the confines of his skin. With the psychedelic effects quickly wearing off France felt more in control of his own body despite the painful arousal still raging inside him.

It was a small comfort as the elevator lit upon the next floor and greeted two countries, one chattering endlessly while the other listened and only half-responded in harried tones before being cut off again. Poland was decked out in a bubblegum pink miniskirt, complete with sparkly stilettos and a tight tank that rode up to show off the sharp flare of his hip bones. Lithuania wore a more sensible (and, more importantly,  _ male _ ) outfit that was quite nondescript as France couldn't stop staring at the cross-dressing blond.

As soon as Poland was aware of the audience he quickly ducked behind Lithuania making nonsense-noise as he cowered. Lithuania heaved a sigh and reached behind himself to pat Poland's quivering head.

"It's ok Poland, look, he's tied up. Someone's just playing a practical joke."

France couldn't help but roll his eyes at that. It was so far beyond a joke at this point…

Poland did peek out though, immediately losing all fear of France but simultaneously losing interest as well. He seemed oblivious to the sexual evidence, the smell, and his two companion's discomfort. France thought he might actually have a peaceful, albeit squirmingly awkward ride with the two, due to Lithuania's politeness and Poland's general air-headedness, but that hope was quickly shattered when Poland gasped out loud having finally noticed France's weeping, pierced cock.

"Oh my GOD! Liet, look at that thing! It's like, totally got  _ bling _ on it! Wow, that must have really hurt, to the max; I wonder how it feels?" Poland twittered excitedly.

France shook his head with a sigh and tried to cover the oversensitized organ in question with his legs though he still struggled to verbalize his irritation. Poland had just answered his own question before asking it, was he really that dumb or-? France's eyes shot open as he realized Poland wasn't talking about how it felt for him involuntarily getting it done but how it would feel for a partner during sex.

Sure enough Poland had pulled a thin vial of liquid from under his skirt and was pouring the slippery contents on his hand. Lithuania was fluttering about in a tizzy, embarrassment and vague protectiveness trying to pressure Poland not to do 'it'.

"Oh, Liet. Don't worry. We can still have fun later, I just wanna try it with a piercing, duh!"

"That's not what I'm worried about!" Lithuania countered though he was already being completely ignored once Poland was satisfied with his reassurance.

Poland turned and began to slather France's cock with a palmful of warm oil, quick and almost businesslike in his movement, completely devoid of eroticism. However those stroking touches stirred up the cinders glowing in the root of France's body and burned him all over again. The touches were sending him over the edge, in more ways than one, but the thick ball lodged in the tip of his cock along with the ribbon still encircling his girth ensured he couldn't do anything more than dangle helplessly once he'd been shoved over.

Poland finished his preparations with the flourish of a limp wrist and then turned and climbed onto the chair, straddling France so they were both facing a mortified Lithuania. He reached beneath him and grabbed the prized cock to line it up, lowering himself and sinking onto France with a breathy moan. Clearly he was already stretched beforehand as it slipped in easily and smoothly, hitting the very base on the first try.

France didn't have nearly as pleasurable an experience, the piercing was far too fresh and it felt like the vice that was Poland's tight ass was tearing him straight through to his core. Not to mention the insanity-inducing level of arousal he still felt, coupled with the various orgasm blocks, turned any pleasure he might have gotten from being ridden into affliction that only exacerbated his deplorable forced-denial. The tape had been removed from his mouth but France still felt like he was being suffocated, he couldn't speak past the all encompassing pain-pleasure, only able to softly gag on the sensation.

Immediately Poland tried to lift himself, only getting up a few inches before falling back down again, settling into a fast, yet shallow rhythm. He huffed irritably as it became obvious he was the one doing all the work. France was rigid beneath him, his eyes scrunched into tight little lines.

"Like, this is totally not fun if he isn't going to help. I like, can't even feel the piercing when it's so totally deep…" Poland trailed off before glancing at Lithuania, a slow sharp grin unsheathing itself across his face.

"Hey Liet, get over here!" Poland demanded. The brunet stuttered and raised his hands off as if to ward off the command.

"Um, Poland, I don't really want to-" Lithuania started before being cut off yet again.

"Not for that! Ugh, I just like, want you to help lift me, duh!"

Lithuania still looked doubtful but shuffled over regardless, standing in front of Poland straddling France. Having gained handholds in Lithuania's jacket, Poland was able to reach much greater leverage, pulling himself all the way up before plunging down again with the piercing dragging a hot satisfying trail inside him. He began to ride France, rolling his hips and building up a steady rhythm; all the while clinging to a blushing Lithuania.

"Ah! Liet, this feels so good! You should totally,  _ ah _ , totally get this piercing!"

Lithuania blanched at the thought though he didn't say anything to counter it. Probably hoping Poland would simply forget about it if he never brought it up again. At the moment though, the piercing was the only thing on Poland's mind, a fiery pleasure that filled him wholly yet was still specific enough to define a very noticeable track as it dragged over his prostate. He bucked wildly and strained up toward Lithuania, face flushed and beseeching.

Lithuania took pity and finally leaned down to kiss Poland.

As he was drawn into the warm, needy pulse of the kiss he felt Poland's right hand lose its grip in his jacket and trail downward until it slowed, hovered and purposefully began to rub at the swell between his legs. Lithuania whimpered into the kiss, trying to part their lips to complain but Poland just pulled him down harder, right hand gripping him through his pants in warning. His left hand was still anchored in Lithuania's jacket, using him as a springboard for the ride on France's cock with his own member already erecting a rock hard tent beneath his skirt. The sight of Poland with his skirt hiked up, bouncing and blushing and his clever little hand rubbing maddeningly between his legs, Lithuania had little choice but to allow the kiss to become a conduit as Poland seemed to want.

He fucked him through the kiss, France becoming little more than a kinky bridge for their coupling, and Poland responded by arching with an encouraging groan. Lithuania slipped his hands around Poland's waist, lifting and rocking him so that the blond's left hand was free to work his belt off and take Lithuania's swollen cock into both hands. Poland began feverishly jerking him off as Lithuania jerked him up and down in reciprocation, both of them making small breathless chirping noises that matched perfectly despite their vast differences in everything else.

France was at least grateful they weren't paying attention to him, too engrossed with one another to inflict any other humiliations onto him. Though, damn it, Poland had a  _ tight _ ass. Every motion sent harrowing arrows through his cock; it would have been enough to make any man wilt in agony as the piercing was tugged mercilessly but the strange drug still circulating through his system refused to give even the slightest relief to his burning erection. He was hard, and he was going to  _ stay  _ hard, no matter how painful the stimulation.

Lithuania moaned suddenly, Poland had grabbed his balls and pulled them down just on this side of  _ too far _ . The brunet responded by lifting Poland up and holding him there, the stillness made the blond protest and squirm, trying to wiggle back down to continue the motion inside him.

"Liet! Quit it! Let me down, like for real!" The blond growled, though the breathless quality in his voice made the demands lose their biting edge. Lithuania felt a rare leeway growing inside him that allowed him to disregard the order; and while he wasn't quite bold enough to further antagonize his caterwauling companion he still defied him by pressing their lips together to silence the blushing outrage. Poland fell into the rhythm of the kiss though his hips still squirmed, trying to cant himself down. Lithuania held tight, though his arms were starting to tire from holding the blond's entire weight; it was only when Poland fell completely still beneath the spell of their kiss that Lithuania finally dropped him and impaled him all over again in an unexpected rush of heat.

Poland cried out as he came in that instant, though his orgasmic bliss was drowned out by the rusty wail torn from France's throat; he'd finally found his voice as the contractions from Poland's release proved to be too much, an acute pressure when he was already tearing at the seams. He felt himself sinking beneath a blanket of numbing survival mechanism; felt it pulled up over his head until he couldn't see or feel anything. It wasn't a complete surrender however, merely a brownout as France was still aware of Poland clambering off him, still felt the tingle in his limbs as blood flowed through crimped muscles, he could still hear Poland's voice, distant and garbled and annoying nonetheless, followed by the wet sucking sounds of fellatio.

But, at least for the moment, France was calmed in the twilight darkness of his mind; there was only so much stimulation his nerves could take before they started to numb themselves out. The drugged electrical storm had finally been swept out for a brief respite.

_ Far _ too brief.

Already he could feel his nerves regrouping, the external noises sharpening in volume and clarity, and finally raw light filtered through his dilated eyes. He saw Lithuania had been shoved back against the wall of the elevator where he was being aggressively sucked off by Poland squatting between his trembling legs. France had to give Poland points for technique at least; Lithuania looked like he was on the verge of sobbing with pleasure.

Indeed, only four bobs of Poland's blond head later and Lithuania was jerking like a whip. Poland pulled back enough that a few streaks landed on France; he knew his drugged wherewithal was back in full force when the hot spurts felt warm enough to be baptismal fires. He shuddered beneath them and endured for the few seconds until they faded before going completely limp. He tried to coordinate himself into some semblance of upright but found the effort was too much. Instead he resorted to begging, finally speaking for the first time since the two had gotten on the elevator.

"You had your fun, so please… Please let me go. I- I can't do this anymore… I-"

"Like, get this elevator moving again Liet!" Poland interjected, not even listening to France's plea. Lithuania, caught in the process of closing his pants, looked torn; he wanted to help France but the blond was already pushing him toward the control panel.

"Come on! I'm bored here!"

"Poland, wait, let me just untie France, it will only be a minute," Lithuania tried to compromise.

"You want me to, like,  _ wait _ ? We're going to miss the show at this rate!" Poland screeched, laying it on thick.

Lithuania fizzled beneath its weight and meekly pressed the button to send the elevator on its chugging journey once again.

France felt a wall of panic shoot up inside him at the dismissive motion.

"Please, don't leave me here; take me with you at the very least!" France wailed, his dignity having already been effectively shredded to confetti by the events of the day, he felt no shame now in begging so openly.

But the elevator doors were creaking open again and Poland was already herding Lithuania off while chattering on inanely about the show they were on the verge of missing. Lithuania cast his eyes back at France as he was pushed off and he looked truly sorry for abandoning the country. His rueful gaze was cut off by the doors closing like steel eyelids.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ope... there's that underage again y'all.

France waited until the elevator started moving again before leaning forward as far as the tape would allow, curling into a cracked human ball and just let the helplessness bubble up inside him. It only took a few seconds to reach boiling-point and he clenched into himself even further as a guttural scream clawed its way out from his center; he roared until he was out of breath and his limbs protested from being compressed so long. Then everything slowly came undone, legs falling forward and lying open, shoulders drooping, head rolling back, even his cock seemed to lose some of its torrid torture as every fiber relaxed into apathy.

It was just too much. He was so overwhelmed by what was being forced on him, so out of control of what was happening that once he got over the complete  _ wrongness _ of the situation France found an eerie sense of serenity. He had no control, nations would do what they wanted and there was nothing he could do or say to stop them; the vulnerability lent itself to surrender. A forced relinquishment, true; but it was better to forfeit consciously than have the submission ripped out in all the sordid and varied ways the globe had to offer.

_ Tranquility _ . A strange emotion to encounter when his blood was still pattering softly to the ground…

Still, it was better than the panic, or the blubbering, or the crazed internal sparking from the drug. France breathed it in and waited patiently for his next tormentor, certain that no matter what he or she did he would remain calm and stoic. He could feel that the drug was finally beginning to filter out, only hitting him in waves of need rather than a full-blown nympho hurricane. And besides the added control, what other choice did he have?

Yet when the elevator stopped and Russia's leering face appeared, fully cloaked and wearing his perpetual scarf despite being indoors, France felt the small resolve he had built up dissolve under the country's quietly amused gaze.

He hadn't factored sociopaths into his determination. And so instead of riding it out he tried diversion.

"Ah, sorry Russia, this one's preoccupied as you can see. Mind taking the next one?"

Russia reached behind him and pulled out the two countries who were hiding back there; France hadn't even noticed, they were so small and had been completely shielded by Russia's hulking form. He pushed Latvia and Estonia forward so they stopped the doors from closing, gripping their heads possessively as he did so. They gasped simultaneously when they peeked up through their kowtowed lashes and saw the state France was in.

"I think we can all fit. Come on now, we don't want to miss the ride," Russia murmured as they were pushed all the way inside.

The small glimmer of hope that France had entertained snuffed itself out in the suddenly claustrophobic space. Russia alone was a dominating force to begin with, but having four bodies in the boxed room made it all the more obvious and unbearable.

"France, this is such an interesting way to ride the elevator; it looks like you were having all kinds of fun."

"Yes, I certainly do like to ride in style." France was proud he'd managed to pull the sarcasm off without a stutter.

Russia smiled gently. Without looking away from the bound blond, he twisted his grip on Estonia and shoved him over toward the control panel. "Press the stop button."

Once again the elevator slowed to a dangling halt. Russia's hand slipped from the top of Latvia's head to his shoulders, gripping him tightly with both hands. He leaned down to murmur into his ear.

"We're going to have fun now, da?"

Latvia was already shaking badly, clearly disturbed by the vivid palette of France's abuse. The color had completely drained from Latvia's already pale face leaving him frighteningly white; his eyes widening so far that his pupils were reduced to tiny blue drops glimmering with fear. The panicked sapphire gleam of them stood out starkly across his ashen visage.

Despite how terrified he obviously was Russia gleefully pushed him forward, forcing him to crash in between France's legs. Latvia let out a petrified squeak and pulled his arms up tight to his chest as if the contact had burned him. Even as he tried to shrink and pull back, Russia stepped forward so that the child bumped against his torso.

He pressed forward, spreading France's legs and grinding idly as if Latvia were not caught between them. The child whimpered; shaking as the two cocks rubbed against either side of him, his arms curled up tight against his chest the entire time.

Russia smiled at the small defense and gently pulled Latvia's arms away from his body, moving him as if he were nothing more than a puppet. France couldn't tell whether Latvia was just moving with him to avoid angering the larger country or if Russia was just so strong he made the forced manipulation look fluid. Regardless, Russia leaned over them both, Latvia near disappearing as his coat draped down around him in mock modesty, and forced Latvia's hands forward to touch France's cock.

It was a shaking and flighty touch, one that teased the over-sensitized flare of his eternal erection.

"No, you can't just brush the surface like that, it chafes the skin. You have to grip it more firmly, like this." Russia's hand enveloped France's cock, he could feel the small flutter of Latvia's palm beneath it as he tried to pull out from under the domineering grip but stilled after a moment when Russia's hand tightened into a vice. Latvia whined as his hand was crushed around cock, France himself was near delirious with pain.

"Come on Latvia, I have already shown you how to do this properly, don't try to embarrass me in front of France now, da?" Russia murmured, his voice lilting playfully along as he began to tug up and down along the purple shaft. The sentence left no room for speculation and France couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the small country winking on the edge of his internal eclipse. No wonder he was shaking all the time if he had to endure "lessons" from Russia…

Still, his pity was short-lived as Russia finally relinquished his iron grip and Latvia continued to jerk France off from where Russia had stopped. He had apparently gotten over his trepidation about touching France and was working his small hands up and down with a surprising level of finesse despite the fact that he was quivering like a leaf as he did it. It would have felt good if not for the already unbearable oversensitivity as a result from both the aphrodisiac and prolonging his own release for so long.

'Blue balls' was only a saying, but France thought it was beginning to have some merit as his own cock was tinged nearly purple, veins thick and straining across it. Little Latvia wasn't helping him either, not even touching the head or the piercing and merely focusing on his shaft. At least the pain before had helped to stave off his unfulfilled orgasm but having such focused attention without any other distraction, perversely in the literal hands of a child, made his balls and cock ache in misery. He needed to come soon; he was losing his mind to the burning in his loins.

Latvia must have noticed the pain France was in as one hand hovered over the wilted bow, he seemed to be mentally egging himself on to try and untie it. Russia predictably let his gloved hand come to rest on the back of Latvia's neck, a silent warning, and the child visibly drooped beneath it, immediately going to back to his hand job and even going so far as to lean forward and lick softly at the tip, careful to avoid the piercing. France shuddered and writhed as the twisting wet trail of Latvia's tongue shot lightning through his cock.

"Estonia, cut him out of the chair," Russia chirped out of nowhere. All three countries stared up at him with varying levels of fear and uncertainty. None of them knew what Russia planned to do with such an ambiguous order; he obviously wasn't going to simply let France go. Estonia, who had been cowering inconspicuously in the corner, glanced nervously between France and Russia before moving behind the chair and beginning to tear off the strips of duct tape that held him down. All the while Latvia continued to jerk France off mercilessly, tonguing the tip, head bent to his task doing everything he could to avoid being noticed by Russia.

With his hands still bound behind his back and his legs still tightly bent and taped France knew there was no hope of escaping or fighting even when he could breathe deeply for the first time as the binding around his chest and shoulders fell loose. Without the tape to hold him in place he began to slip off the chair, Latvia scuttling back before Russia grabbed the tattered remains of France's shirt and lifted him up. The cloth cut in under his arms and he could already hear it begin to rip from his weight. Russia just smiled, eyes closing and darkening as France struggled to hold his head up and glare at him. Just as quickly as he had been picked up, France was spun around and tossed down again. He landed hard on his stomach across the seat of the chair, unable to cushion himself at all with his arms still tangled behind him. Before he could even get his breath back Russia's boot slammed down onto his ribcage pinning him in place.

"I'm not a sack of potatoes, you know!" France wheezed in reply to being manhandled.

"Yes, potatoes don't squirm and moan and paint such pretty colors on the floor," Russia responded, somehow managing to sound demure despite the macabre content of the words.

From his new position, one that began to tingle with pins and needles where circulation had returned, France could see the floor beneath his chair. Utter filth gave him the stink-eye back, swirling eddies of vomit shot through with liquids that gamely defied classification, and everything was topped with a badge of blood, larger than France would have expected. He couldn't hold back a shudder of absolute abhorrence even though he knew he was covered in much the same muck.

"Disgusting…" France muttered, if only to appease his panicked gag reflex.

"Yes, you are," Russia leaned down to whisper, however it was still loud enough for all four occupants to hear.

Such a small thing, a normally negligible comment; but with a boot in his back and the evidence staring him in the face, the words felt barbed and they burrowed deeper with each attempt to cast them out. France stewed in his own shame.

Russia seemed satisfied with the broken silence and he intended to keep it that way. He tore the back of France's shirt off, the only whole piece left, and yanked France's head up to cram the wadded material in his mouth. Finally he secured it with a recycled strip of duct tape Estonia had been holding.

After nodding sagely at his handiwork Russia turned to appraise his companions. His eyes fell on Latvia whose hands were still clenched around thin air in the shape of a cock, as if afraid to let up with the order even when his target had been removed.

"You've been such a good boy Latvia, why don't you come over here and try him out?" It was phrased as a question but the threat was implicit. Latvia's eyes widened and he physically swooned, Estonia was at his side to catch him.

"Pick him up, I want to see him try," Russia ordered flippantly, grinding his heel into France's back.

Estonia looked ill and on the verge of saying something but all it took was a simple head tilt from Russia to knock him back into submission. He muttered to Latvia, something quiet and encouraging, before lifting the boy up gently, trying to get his feet under him. Latvia however had liquefied and was blubbering to boot, not resisting but not helping himself either. He was completely boneless in Estonia's arms and even when he was pressed up against France's raised ass he buckled the second Estonia let go.

Russia grabbed him by the head, hand large enough to get a grip on his skull, and raised squirming Latvia up.

"Listen, Latvia, either you do him or I'll untie him and make him do  _ you _ ," Russia warned, his tone soft and feathery and all the more deadly for it.

Latvia sobbed loudly at that but nodded nonetheless, or at least as well as he was able to when he was nearly dangling from the grip on his skull. Russia let him go and, still crying, he immediately undid his pants. Despite how unwilling and scared he was, Latvia was still hard surprisingly, enough that it made France briefly wonder exactly what other "lessons" Russia had imparted onto the boy.

Latvia mounted France and let out a soft breathy cry, sounding almost surprised, as the head easily popped inside. Latvia took another second to breathe and sniffle before he jerked his hips forward and sheathed himself to the hilt. His small cock was pressed inside, soft and supple and completely lacking the inches of manhood but France was still bowled over by the sensation. Partly, it was the way he entered him without needing to kneel but it was also the hot tears that landed on France's back as he cried even as his little hips thrust with rare frenzied abandon. The entire thing was even more debauched than even France's vivid imagination, he had simply never considered being topped by a child and the revelation was as disturbing as it was titillating. Unfortunately the piercing and ribbon tandem was still there, always there, and its sharp edge trimmed any hair triggers France might have enjoyed.

Luckily it didn't take long; the combined warmth and wetness and Latvia's own inexperience in topping quickly brought the small country to a clear and shuddering orgasm. France felt it as a small bloom of pain inside him that quickly faded beneath the larger more impressive wounds. Latvia had barely finished, just beginning to relax into the afterglow, when he was violently ripped away from France. He hit the wall of the elevator with a high cry like a bird hitting glass.

For the first time since his hellish ride began, France was actually grateful for the cuckoo clock which had sodomized him earlier. If it hadn't been for that painful yet thorough stretching beforehand France knew he never would have been able to take Russia's massive length all in one thrust without being cloven in half. As it was, it merely made his eyes roll back into his head, mouth stretching open into a silent scream as Russia's land-mass of a cock filled him wholly, stretching and tearing him in even more new ways.

It was a far cry from Latvia's soft tentative thrusts and France nearly had the wind knocked out of him with every punching burst. Russia was relentless, not even giving him a chance to adjust as he picked up a rhythm and began to pump in and out with frightening speed. He would draw out to the very tip, France's asshole stretching even further over the glans, before slamming back in so deeply France could feel Russia's balls crush up against his ass. It was so rough France swore he could feel a bulge in his stomach that would be visible from the outside.

He began to scream in time with the penetrations, a hoarse yell further muffled through his gag that he couldn't stop even if he tried; the noise was instinctual, a result of being reduced to a jerking conduit for Russia's cruelty. His hair fell around his face, providing convenient blinders from Latvia's and Estonia's no doubt horrified gazes. All he could see was the polluted line of tiles on the floor dancing up and down in time with Russia's relentless and shockingly-straightforward rape.

It seemed to go on forever; Russia's stamina was frankly frightening. Every time it seemed he was close he would slow just long enough to regain control and begin to break him in all over again. Eventually France fell into the self-preserving fog once again and he was only minimally aware of the agony his lower half suffered.

It wasn't until Russia's gloved hands moved from his punishing grip around France's hips and instead settled on his ass, pressing the cheeks together to get even more pleasurable pressure that ricocheted France back into his senses and forced him to react. He groaned and thrashed in protest before falling rigid with pain; moving only made the reaming worse.

Unsurprisingly the short struggle was what pushed Russia over the edge and he rammed his cock in as deep as it would fit and shot his load with a happy sigh. He slowly dragged it out as he came, leaving a burning trail of jizz all the way to France's entrance. He gave his ass a gentle congratulatory pat as he pulled out which left France tussling against full-body tremors and tears as the nonchalance of it all felt like the most horrifying part.

Russia either didn't notice the way France was rattling over the chair or he simply didn't care. Instead he fixed Estonia with a hooded smile, beckoning him with two fingers.

"You can have a turn with him as well!" Russia explained as Estonia remained glued to his corner with Latvia trembling around his legs.

Just as Estonia was beginning to gather his shattered nerves together into a bundle that could pass as barely a half-mast erection, Russia suddenly stiffened like a deer smelling the wind. He glanced frantically around the elevator before his wide lilac eyes settled decisively on the floor.

He actually seemed…  _ scared _ .

That in itself was unnerving and Estonia and Latvia clung to each other with a whimper as they watched Russia's strange behavior.

"Get us to the next floor," he murmured, fast and low. There was no cruel light in his voice, only a rare, strained register. Estonia immediately punched the stop button again to release the elevator and they shuddered down to the next floor. The door hadn't even completely opened before Russia was edging out sideways, calling the two countries over his shoulder.

"We have to take the stairs the rest of the way!"

Estonia and Latvia glanced at each other, then at France who was still slung bedraggled over the chair, before wiping their faces with sleeves and scurrying after Russia before the door closed.


	9. Chapter 9

France was still breathless as the doors slid shut and it quickly escalated to dry heaving sobs as his prison descended once more. He didn't know how much more of this he could handle, something about the way Russia had used him, the dispassion, the violence, the quietness of the entire affair – the whole thing stabbed at something France was unconstitutionally prepared for.

He shuddered with tears as the elevator continued to drop; he prayed, silently, inarticulately, that there would be no one left, though by looking at the glowing jury of buttons still flashing vindictively at him there were more trials awaiting him. How was he going to make it out unscathed? He was already torn  _ open,  _ what else could anyone do to him?

His reprieve was short-lived, France didn't even get down a single flight before a hand shot through the crack of the opening door and clawed it open the rest of the way. France was shocked out of his tears by the creepy strength and the lace cuffs bordering the arms. Belarus stood in the entrance with her arms spread wide against the threshold; her hair was only slightly mussed, as if she'd just run up several flights of stairs, but besides that she was pristine.

"Russia?" she ground out, a tilted inflection in her voice. The atmosphere seemed to darken as she stepped in and saw the unwilling target of her affection not there, only a trembling and weeping France as consolation prize.

"Russia?" she called again, ignoring the fact that he obviously wasn't there. She stalked in, kicked the wall, then moved and kicked the other two sides as if testing their strength, listening to hear if there were any hollow-sounding areas. Obviously Russia had tried the "empty elevator" trick before.

It wasn't until Ukraine came stumbling around the corner of the hall, clearly winded from chasing after her sister, that Belarus seemed to concede that Russia had escaped her incestuous clutches. For now.

Down the hall, Ukraine yelled inarticulately and jogged toward the elevator, her vast bosom swaying and bouncing dangerously with every step. It was a wonder she hadn't gotten a concussion from hitting herself with them. The doors had already begun to close and, to France's relief, it looked like she wasn't going to make it. Belarus by herself was bad enough, but having more than one country seemed to just double the problems, their brother being a prime example of such tag-team mischief.

"Hold the door!" Ukraine wailed piteously to her sister (who steadfastly ignored her).

Ukraine tried to speed up to make it, her feet slipping under the traction and just like that she was falling forward, arms pin-wheeling to try and keep her upright. She landed hard against the mostly-closed doors, a single rebellious breast squeezing through and providing enough of a block to send the doors open wide again. Having lost her stumbling block she fell forward and landed face first in the communal muck of the elevator floor.

She reared up on her knees with a shriek and stared at her outstretched hands, both of which were slick with filth. Her blouse was stained as well; two perfect circles right over the peaks of her enormous breasts. Bulbous tears began to well up as she realized what she had landed in.

It was a comical enough sight that France was actually able to snort a laugh through his gag. There was only so much angst he could wallow in with a pair of filthy melons highlighted in front of him.

Belarus was a different matter however.

"France, you little shit, where the fuck is Russia?" Belarus growled, completely ignoring her sister's crocodile tears. She leaned down and ripped France's gag off leaving painful welts behind.

He shook his head trying to soften the jagged sensation across his face before gasping out.

"How should I know, you stalker twat!" France yelled with sneering gusto. It was a relief to finally be able to throw back an insult; he wasn't concerned about retribution from Belarus, at least not in a sexual manner. She was far too intent on raping someone who wasn't him.

Belarus was unperturbed. She lifted a glossy heel, plunked it on the chair and leaned down to snarl directly in his face.

"You should know because you are on the fucking elevator and so was Russia, now where is he?"

"How should I know! You don't know if he even got on this stupid elevator!"

Belarus leaned back and drew in a deep breath and held it for a moment before answering.

"I can smell him. It's overpowering on here." Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "What did you do to him?"

"W-what? N-nothing! Actually, you're right. Russia was on the elevator, you just missed him on the floor above. If you get off here you still might be able to catch him."

The sudden cool tendril of danger twining around his throat made it easy to spill his guts. Belarus may not have wanted to fuck him like everyone else but she was still just as off-balance as her brother. He motioned with his head as the bell dinged on the next floor.

"See? There you are, off you go now, I wish you the best of luck in finding him…" France trailed off as he saw Austria framed in the doorway, nose buried in a book looking vaguely annoyed. He glanced up and the blasé look quickly morphed to one of scandalized outrage.

Belarus turned her head and nothing else and shot Austria a sidewinder glare.

"Go. Away."

The doors seemed to hear her icy command and rolled shut once again before Austria could go ballistic.

"W-wait, aren't you going after him? You're getting farther away every floor we go down," France cajoled.

"If he knew I was coming he is long gone by now. It doesn't matter though, I will always be able to find him," Belarus paused, leaned down to grab a fistful of France's hair and bend him backward. "What bothers me more is why you absolutely reek of him. France, answer me. What the fuck did you do with my Russia?"

"Belarus! What are we going to do about my shirt? It's ruined!" Ukraine cried, having finally recovered from her fall.

France was grateful for the momentary distraction since it was obvious the truthful answer to her question would likely get him in trouble, despite it not being his fault. Keeping the attention on Ukraine was probably his best chance for survival.

"Aww, but Ukraine, that is such a good look on you! It highlights your best assets!" France chirped, trying to sound cheery.

"My best… Assets?" Ukraine mumbled, looking down at her chest. She flushed a bright red and tried to cover herself, only succeeding in smearing it around. She noticed and began to cry again, turning and facing the corner.

Belarus dropped her heel onto France's back and dug the sharp point in until France was sure it would pierce his skin.

"Don't tease her. Ukraine, take your shirt off."

Ukraine turned with a light little  _ hic _ .

"You have something that can get out the stain?"

"No. I need it for something else. Give it here."

Ukraine frowned but did as she was told. Belarus took the dirty garment and flipped it open and then wrapped it carefully around her hand. She stepped around to France's abused backside and casually shoved two cloth-covered fingers into the overstretched hole.

France gasped in surprise and tried to look back though the awkward bending made everything in him cringe. Belarus pressed deeper, not thrusting per say, just sifting inside him as if looking for something.

"You fucked my Russia, didn't you," Belarus said, no rising indication that it was actually a question.

"H-He did that to me! I was tied up, I-"

"I don't care," Belarus replied tonelessly and France felt a cool metallic length rest against his spine. He couldn't see what it was but knowing Belarus he could hazard a likely guess. Indeed, as Belarus pulled her fingers out to stare blankly at the glistening mess covering them, France felt the blade rotate until only the thin line of the cutting edge was perched lightly on his back. And then, without warning, it pressed down  _ hard _ .

France yelled, arched, tried to get away from the razor pain, but it just dug in deeper splitting his flesh. He heard something dripping and through his pain-blurred gaze he could see two splatters of red on the ground, streaming down and growing larger like a pair of red oozing eyes. It should have been obvious but somehow he hadn't realized he was bleeding.

"Please, please stop-" France managed to whimper, his voice shaking and soft beneath the searing weight of the blade.

"No. Russia is mine. No one else can have him. Not even a single cell. And here he is, gushing inside you. He should be in  _ me _ ," Belarus hissed and the knife tilted up, the tip now pressing down, sinking in slowly, and it was the worst pain by far, the worst agony, no teasing or pleasurable edge, no excuse, no taunting, just pure homicidal intent driven down between his ribs.

France  _ screamed _ .

Soft warm pillows encased him, pushing tight against him. Slowly words filtered through the red haze that robbed his senses, the sounds throbbed around the room, following the pulsing metronome of the stab wound.

"You can't kill him sister! Please! Let go of the knife!" Ukraine had her lovely breasts pushed right against France's face, kneeling before him and reaching over to hold up Belarus' trembling arms. The knife was clutched between them, still embedded in France though the bulk of the blade remained safely outside of his ribcage. Ukraine was stopping Belarus from running him through completely.

"Let me go Ukraine."

"No!"

"I said, let me go."

" _ No _ ." Ukraine wasn't crying anymore and there was something old and steely in her voice. Belarus glanced at her in surprise and after a second huffed and let go. She stood, crossed her arms and faced the wall.

Ukraine softened and carefully slid the knife back out the few inches it had managed to gain. Luckily she'd been able to stop Belarus before she stabbed him completely, but there was still a gush of blood and France groaned pitifully against her chest.

"Belarus, give me your apron," Ukraine said softly.

"My apron? What for?" Belarus asked suspiciously.

"Because we have to stop the bleeding or he will die," Ukraine replied, as calm as if she were asking her sister to pass the  _ salo _ .

Belarus scoffed.

"That was the idea, actually."

France heard their conversation over the searing pulse from his back, the dripping patter that had never stopped. It took a moment to sink in that he might actually die after everything else and he found himself strangely unconcerned by the notion.

Ukraine gingerly touched the edges of the wound, pushed it together before pressing fiercely against it. She'd taken her sister's apron and balled it up against his wound to stem the bleeding. It hurt, but it was nothing compared to the stabbing itself. After a tense moment Ukraine reworked the cloth so the bulk of it was wadded against the wound while the ties were wound around his torso to hold the make-shift bandage in place. She had to work around the duct tape bondage with his arms still twisted and taped behind his back and he didn't have the wherewithal to even ask her to untie him.

He felt woozy, tired beyond recognition, and even the pain which had seemed so pressing a few moments before had dulled to a distant throb. He wasn't in danger of bleeding to death, not with motherly Ukraine around, and he had a foggy hope that she would stay with him and protect him until they reached the bottom. Floors were winking by without anyone else even appearing, aside from a harried Austria, and France thought that perhaps Ukraine truly was his protective charm. The thought was a lovely one, a soft and easy way out; almost as soft as her breasts pressed enticingly to his face. She was helping him out; he figured he could do something to return the favor.

Even with death in the room slowly lapping at his wound, France still couldn't help himself.

Sneakily he snaked his tongue out and began to lick at the soft flesh, twisting a wet pattern over the receptive mound. Ukraine trembled, held him tighter but didn't say anything. France moved again, turning his head to reach a nipple and lap at it appreciatively. Ukraine dropped her hands from the impromptu bandage and nearly collapsed with a soft mewling moan.

Apparently she was sensitive.

In an instant Belarus was on him, yanking him up by the roots of his hair and hissing in his ear.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Just saying t-thanks," France managed to gasp out. The wound flared brightly and he was momentarily blinded by the pain.

"Belarus, it's ok, I'm fine. It just took me by surprise is all. It's been so long since anyone touched me…" She trailed off looking embarrassed.

"I could do it again if you like," France wheezed, still held up by Belarus. She dug two fingers against his makeshift bandage and he screeched and jerked in agony.

" _ Watch what you say _ ," Belarus growled.

"Belarus, stop it! I'm telling you it's okay, really, I don't mind."

Belarus glared at her sister, still holding France; she seemed to be measuring something in Ukraine and after a long moment she huffed, dropped him down hard and walked over to hit the stop button. The familiar shudder of the standstill brought him back to his senses, it was never a good thing to be hanging in the shaft and stopping was a cue for the torture to start again. His body was well-trained by this point and knew what the signal meant; he began to quiver.

"Well? Get to it," Belarus deadpanned.

Ukraine stared back, puzzled.

"The bandage…?"

"Not you.  _ Him _ ." Belarus nodded at France before she kicked the chair forward with the freakish strength that seemed to run in their family. France had his face rammed against Ukraine's chest and she was knocked back as well, the chair pinned her against the wall. There was an awkward moment where France craned up from cleavage and their eyes met. Ukraine was beet red, flushing darker the longer they stared; France himself just felt dizzy and tired and there was still a thrill of pain from his back every time he moved.

He didn't want to move, didn't want to be touched, even the prime motor-boating opportunity seemed like too much effort. He just wanted to stay nestled into the protective warmth of her breasts, they could ride down the rest of the way like that and Ukraine seemed inclined to let him.

Of course Belarus had to ruin it. She had rewrapped her hand and again was at his backside, spearing her fingers inside him. France couldn't help the short bark of pain it forced out of him, doubled over on itself as the movement made his wound stab at him. Ukraine gasped out loud as France's scruffy beard tickled and scratched against her breasts, his open-mouthed groan vibrating across her flesh. With the chair pressed tightly against her, and France's head still tucked against her, they were both stuck for the moment. Not that Ukraine was trying very hard to get away, not when she was trembling in pleasure, holding a hand to her mouth to try and quell the mewling moans of delight.

He could tell that she was embarrassed to be getting off on it, but it was no more humiliation than he'd already suffered and he couldn't really commiserate, especially not with her sister's rough fingers digging into his ass.

Belarus was three fingers deep, already plunged into the last knuckle. They were still covered in Ukraine's shirt, it seemed Belarus didn't want to dirty her own hands, and the cloth rubbed the already broken and tender skin. France whined and tried to wiggle off them, get away from the burning rub of the cloth but Belarus was undaunted. She shoved in deeper, used her other hand to hold him down and give leverage to her exploration.

Every twitch and groan France made sent ripples through Ukraine and she began to rock herself against his face, jerking to the beat of his staccato breath. He was trapped between them, smothered by them, and when Belarus pulled out momentarily, only to tuck a fourth finger into the spear and press it right back in, France howled. Ukraine responded slowly, as if she weren't in control of herself, and gently but firmly tilted his head to press her nipple to his open mouth.

"Please," she gasped, clearly out of her mind with the stimulation. When he didn't immediately respond she pressed harder, until the tip was forced inside, rubbing against his wet lips whether he wanted to or not. She shuddered and, still holding his head with one hand, snaked her other hand down between her legs to give herself something to buck against.

Belarus shoved her hand in as deep as it could go, the overstretched hole able to take her girth without any lubrication besides what had already been shot up inside him. And that was what she was obviously seeking, she wasn't getting off on it like Ukraine shuddering against his pliant mouth and face; no, for Belarus it was purely utilitarian. There was only one person she wanted. Every drop of Russia's sweat, blood and tears belonged to her, his semen was no exception. She just wanted what was rightfully hers.

She wasn't satisfied with her limited reach; she knew her brother was larger than that. She pulled out again, added her thumb to the stretch and plowed forward again until it hit the widest part of her knuckles and stopped.

France was babbling in pain, hindered by Ukraine's insistent rutting and his own incoherence. Every time he opened his mouth to say stop, she gagged him with her breast, soft and hard all at once pressing firmly against him until he was moaning through her. It was no longer a pleasant distraction, merely another method of forcing him. He could barely breathe through the crush of her desire, forcing his mouth wherever it pleased her, never once pulling back or slowing down or giving him a second to adjust. The unexpected stimulation stoked Ukraine’s undernourished libido and once it was awakened she was ravenous for more. France felt like he was drowning in her.

Belarus frowned, wiggled her hand and slowly began to shift it back and forth, working the rim over the wide bony ridge of her knuckles. France trembled in pain with every movement, eyes wide and unseeing from the agony. This was by far the largest thing anyone had tried to stuff in him yet. Even the cuckoo clock had a vaguely cylindrical shape and wasn't nearly as wide, and as bad as all the rapes had been, at least a cock was something familiar, something that could sensibly fit. Her hand was large, taking after her brother no doubt, bony and angular. Without lube or patience and rough cloth on top of everything else, fisting was an unbearable proposition only outweighed by Belarus' own callous stubbornness.

She shoved her hand in, little by little, France straining against the horrible stretch that reopened wounds, made blood frame his hole and spill forth, made him moan aloud until Ukraine's hunger swallowed the cry. Everything strained beyond his limits until there was a sudden pop and she surged inside, up to her wrist in a single rush.

The release of pressure was an immense relief; once she'd gotten past the bony ridge of her knuckles it made her delicate wrist seem tiny in comparison. And though France was uncomfortably full, fuller than he'd ever been in his life with an entire hand up his ass, he still sobbed in relief having finally gotten through the worst of it. Ukraine cradled his head and soaked up his tears, his gasps, his every exhalation as a pleasurable sieve against her sensitive chest. She was nearly incoherent herself, though for a far different reason.

Belarus turned inside him, scraping and twisting and pushing deeper still, reaching into his very innards. She paused for a moment, as if to let everything soak in. Slowly she balled her fist and began move rhythmically inside him, her entire forearm becoming a massive tool to fuck him. She was panting, sweat beading across her forehead, and for the first time she seemed to realize the position of power she was in, what she could do to him.

"Did he fuck you like this? Deep and smooth and slow?"

France twitched, horribly unprepared for the comparison. It had been better before when she just wanted to silently excavate, now she was fucking him and of course that meant it was going to get worse. The gentle sway of her arm began to have some real muscle behind it, pressing with increasingly violent jostles.

"Or was he rough? Plowing into you like the dirty whore you are."

The thrusts were degenerating into punches, his rim rubbed raw from being dragged back and forth across the rough fabric covering her arm; his insides stretching and bearing the brunt of her vengeance.

The sobs were back again, deep shuddering beasts that plucked at his wound with every breath, sent Ukraine into a frenzy against his front, egged Belarus on from behind. The entire thing turned mindless.

Though as soon as Belarus became invested in him she just as quickly lost interest. After only a few more seconds punching his organs she sighed and pulled out slowly, holding the edge of the shirt against her forearm in order to not lose it inside him. The exit was just as bad as the forced entry. Once again his body strained and stretched painfully around the edge of her knuckles, slowing her until she was forced to stop completely and unball her fist. She teased the resistance, pulling in bursts of pressure, each one harder than the last, each one a shocking stab of pain as the overwrought rim was forced past its limit over and over. Finally she made it past her knuckles and the rest of her hand flowed out easily. The cloth was still wrapped around her arm, bloody and cum-soaked, and she delicately unwrapped it with her clean hand, only touching the edges with her fingertips, keeping the filth contained. She folded the cloth over on itself, then again and again until it was a small little self-contained wad.

France had no idea what she intended to do with it and he had no desire whatsoever to find out.

Belarus stood, dusted her dress off and looked over to her sister. Ukraine was still pinned to France's head, desperately rubbing herself against him, a hand pumping vigorously between her legs stroking herself through her pants. She was panting, gasping, the perfect picture of desperation as she tried to push herself against France's face. But now that Belarus was finally out of him he no longer responded.

He was utterly exhausted, numbed out beyond belief and he didn't want to play their game anymore. Belarus had taken what she wanted by force, that didn't mean he had to succumb to Ukraine as well. He closed his mouth, held absolutely still and tucked his head down so all she had was the crown of his skull to work against.

Ukraine sobbed in frustration, but guilt stopped her from pulling him up to finish the job. Belarus sighed again and grabbed a fistful of his hair, holding her knife to the side of his neck.

"Give her what she wants or I'll bleed you dry right here."

France knew better than to doubt her and with Ukraine still bucking mindlessly against herself, she wouldn't have the compassion to step in and stop her sister a second time.

And though it hurt him to do it, though he was shattered enough to believe that death was a balm, there was still that last desperate inch of resistance against a final surrender. It was that inch that forced him to extend his tongue and drag it heavily against Ukraine. She yelped in pleasure, pressed tighter and wriggled as the waves rolled through her. France took none of his usual pride in the reaction, not with a knife to his throat, and he slowly methodically began to suckle and lick each of her breasts in turn, rotating between them, nibbling across their taut surface, circling her nipples with his tongue before clamping down and using a hint of teeth as he sucked hard against her.

The sudden focused attention, in all its variations, was more than enough to set Ukraine off and she jerked against her hand, her chest heaving and trembling as her orgasm broke through and shook her entire body.

Belarus slowly removed the knife, let go of France's hair and let his head fall. Ukraine was slumped boneless against the wall, a satisfied dopey look over her face. Belarus pushed the chair back from her sister before kicking it over completely. France fell to the floor with a jarring thump and a second later felt the unpleasant wetness of various fluids and solids steeping over his bare flesh. Belarus stood, towering over him from his ignoble perspective on the floor and swung her leg back landing a solid kick to his stomach. The force of it slammed him against the wall and the wound on his back latched onto the reverberating pain like a honing rod. France could taste something in the back of his throat, heavy and metallic, and he vaguely wondered how bad that kick had messed up his insides.

"Listen here France, if I ever catch you touching my brother again I won't let you off so easy. Next time I will kill you. That's a promise." Belarus pressed the button and the elevator begrudgingly dropped down to the next floor. She strode out without even a backward glance.

Ukraine struggled up after her sister, hands pressed protectively against her exposed chest. She glanced down at France, flushed red all over again and any hope France had in Ukraine freeing him was lost in her embarrassment. She wasn't going to help someone who she took such advantage of; the hypocrisy was too much, even for her. She just tossed a small "Sorry" down to him and hurried off to find a shower to try and wash away the memory, the lingering pleasure stolen from so much pain.

France didn't really feel much of anything and only watched with dull eyes as the elevator closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where the old document ends. I'll finish up the rest as I write it. Thanks y'all.


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